Time of Darkness
by Danu Otha-yo-nih
Summary: It's the Fifth Year of Harry's education, but the surprises and secrets of Professor Snape's past come back to him and open everyone's eyes to the lies we tell ourselves to survive from day-to-day; for UNEDITED NC-17 Versions of certain chapters, please v
1. Chapter One

Chapter One

The breeze was playful, playfully tugging at her cloak of emerald, playfully tugging at the long strands of hair that framed her face, as she stood staring over the darkened edge of the cliff. Her body trembled with a paralyzing fear as she stared before her, not daring to look down, her throat dry, her stomach aflutter. As she slowly fills her lungs with the rich scents of life, she feels the longing echoing from her withinï¼ï¼.

_Can I hold you?_

It is as if her arm has become nothing more than an eternal throbbing of her pulse, sticky with drying blood.

_Can I know you? _

Time is standing still for this moment alone. Her heavy-lashed lids closing down, the darkness filling, pooling inside her very being. As if she is forced, her bare foot, covered with lacerations, moves hesitantly forward. She feels the tightly packed earth beneath her toes, the small stones and bits of sand like hot coals on the wounds.

_These words that have this power over me._

She raises her face to the full moon; her mouth opens as if gasping in awe of the beauty she sees, but no words. Only a slight choking as damaged vocal chords beg to remember what they once were. Her eyes become mournful, as she inhales one last time, the heady scent of trees and the violetsï¼ï¼ï¼.

Then the sudden rush of thick winds all around her, the freedom, the absolute joy of freedom, and a tortured scream echoing faintly in the back of her mind.

With a strangled cry, he tore awake, tangled in a mass of sheets and limbs, sweat drenching his thin frame. Gasping for air, he lay still, his eyes rolling about wildly. He was alone, safe in his bed, alone. It felt as if his heart would burst from its prison, the pounding so great. His throat was dry as a desert, and he felt sick to his stomach. Slowly, worn hands shaking, he grasped at the goblet of water always by his bedside. It dribbled down his chin as he gulped; wishing for the water to wash away the memories, the pain, as swiftly as it washed away his thirst. But nothing could make this pain go away, the memories would haunt him a lifetime and more than likely, beyond. He could feel tears sliding down his cheeks; biting his lower lip, he inhaled deeply, eyelids pressed tightly together, willing it to stop. He could smell the sweat, and the cool night air, the clean water on his chin, the salt of his tears, and ---

His eyes broke open, tearing the room apart in panic. He knew he smelled violetsï¼ï¼it was impossible. There were no violets in his room. He had made sure of that. Never, when this time of year came round, never. With the dry sobs of a shattered man, he clutched his face in his hands and spoke in a frightening whisper.

"Help meï¼ï¼"

"Lovely evening, isn't it Severus?" Headmaster Dumbledore's voice was soothing as he and Professor Snape gazed at the evening sky.

_The day you died I lost my way._

"Yes—yes, of course, Professor." Severus Snape felt himself jerked from his reverie, hastily scrambling to form the words he now spoke in a tumble. Dumbledore seemed to not notice as his clear blue eyes flicked momentarily to Severus' troubled features.

_The day you died I lost my mind._

"It seems as if this time of year always brings an essence of nostalgia with it, doesn't it?" Severus found his brow furrowing in puzzlement, as Professor Dumbledore continued, "The changing of the seasons, I mean. The eloquent death of nature, giving to the harsh of winter, and finally being reborn in a moment of glory. These darkened times give us more than necessary the loneliest of hours to contemplate our darkest of moments. Our most painful and repressed times." Dumbledore gave a long, wistful sigh, "I do fear that the times to come will only bring with them more memories to reencounter during these seasons, that they will bring even more pain than any shall be able to shoulder the burden of carrying." A pause.

Severus shifted uncomfortably upon his feet, suddenly aware of the heaviness of his robes, the tightness of his boots, the difficulty of swallowing with his collar buttoned. Timidly, he cleared his throat, gazing at a particularly bright star in the velvet blue of the night sky.

Smiling in his gentle way, Dumbledore turned to the dark man beside him. He stood stoic and stiff, carrying the pain of many trials in the lines about his thin mouth. His sallow skin reflecting the deep self-loathing he harbored within. Warm brown eyes reduced to empty pools of ice, thick brows furrowed in eternal suspicion; long black hair unkempt and greasy. Dumbledore felt the sorrow for this man that he had felt only a few short years ago when he first took him into his care.

"The first years should be arriving at any moment," Severus murmured, an attempt at a lighter fare of discussion.

"We should see them breaking the horizon any moment now." Dumbledore turned watchful eyes upon the vast rippling ebony before him, choosing his words carefully, "I will need you to greet our guests before the first years have a chance to make their acquaintance." He heard the sharp intake of breath beside him.

"Me?" he hissed, turning suddenly stunned eyes upon Dumbledore. The elder man's smile broadened, but he did not return Severus' shocked stare.

"Of course. I trust you to make them feel welcome, Professor Snape. They will be ï¼..a bit weary from their journey. It is a taxing one, to travel across the sea by broomstick."

"But Headmaster, do you think it wise to entrust _me_ with such an important---"

"I would not have asked if I did not foresee some grain of wisdom within." His reply reassured and silenced the younger man, who straightened visibly, plucking at his obsidian robes nervously.

"I suppose that I should meet them now?" his candor was stiff, the old, familiar mask sliding itself comfortably into place. He would be strong; he would not let Professor Dumbledore down.

Dumbledore felt a sting of regret as he sensed the familiar sharpness return to Severus' voice. He could feel him retreating far away inside himself.

"Yes, of course Professor. They should be landing on the Quidditch field. Only a few to be sure. I was told only twelve chaperones were accompanying them." With a nod from his dark head, Severus whirled away, slipping into the darkness of the night. Dumbledore sighed deeply, hesitating only a moment before turning as well, returning to the warmth and light of the castle of whose balcony he had been standing. As velvet blue met shining black, a small boat breached their meeting, a tiny bulb of gold leading the way for more.

Severus strode down the dew slick hill towards the enormous sea of green that was the Quidditch field. He could already see dark forms milling in a pathetic huddle, swearing sharply beneath his breath he quickened his pace, Dumbledore's words overpowering his thoughts. He was right; this time of the year always brought the pain of things best forgotten. Things best repressed in the darkest closets of your mind, where your heart could not hear their whimpers and screams. Drawing his wand, the wood comforting in his calloused palms, he uttered "Lumos" and raised the beam of white light above his head, casting bizarre, contorted features across the faces of the guests.

"Welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I am Professor Severus Snape, Headmaster Dumbledore sent me to collect you and to bring you back to the castle." The children looked aged beyond their years, dark circles hovering beneath their eyes, broomsticks clutched by white-knuckled hands, as they stared listlessly back at him. The chaperones were bedraggled, their faces drawn impassively. Snape felt a pang of pity so great he forced himself to look towards the skies, "How many more?" the words seemed sharp upon his tongue.

"Two more groups." A woman spoke from the back, her voice beyond exhausted. Severus nodded curtly, and kept his eyes locked upon the now black sky, the moon slipping behind foreboding clouds. The occasional whispered word of comfort, a noise as someone shifted uncomfortably, while time passed agonizingly slow. His dark eyes squinted as he peered into the inky sky. Finally there was something moving, and it was coming ever closer.

It was as if a vacuum had opened in the night, as noise became form, several broomsticks landing on the field brusquely. A tall woman dismounted first, her figure like an overly stuffed pillow on thick sausages, as she came into the light. Severus was taken aback slightly as he saw her face was caked with thick white make-up, and gaudy red lipstick. The light repelled off what must have been a wig of golden blonde piled high atop her head. He blinked several times, eyes adjusting to the sight before him.

"Mildred Belle, it is a delight to meet you." Her thick southern accent seemed to pour from those striking lips, hand pumping his energetically. Severus felt himself involuntarily jerk away, and instantly regretted it. A flicker of hurt flashed across the woman's colorful features before melting away into a new mask, lips pursed tightly together, hands clasped at her enormous bosom.

"A pleasure as well, Professor Belle. I am Professor Severus Snape and am acting on behalf of Headmaster Dumbledore in greeting and escorting all of you to the castle." The golden head bobbed respectfully, breaking into a wide smile at the mention of the kindly headmaster.

"Ah, Albie! He is such a wonderful man! Don't you think so dears?" she turned towards the bedraggled group behind her, several nodding politely, "Awfully kind of him to take us in on such short notice," she whispered conspiratorially to Severus, "considering how times are now." The tall man nodded, face upturned towards the now naked moon.

"Isn't a third party supposed to be arriving as well?" the words were cold.

"Yes, they were right behind us last I checked. Should be here any mo—AH! Here they are now!" several more dark forms swooped into the stadium, one form circling overhead like a large bird of prey, as the smaller figures landed in pairs. Clearing his throat authoritively; noting the cool breeze picking up, as the guests greeted one another; voices hushed, he turned to them.

Lifting a pale hand, "Welcome. As I spoke earlier, I am Professor Severus Snape. If you would, please follow me." And then, swiftly, his feet led him away. A momentary scuffle incurred behind him, as several hitched up their robes and scrambled after. They were an unusually solemn group entering the castle, shivering a bit as the heat blasted their numbed bodies. Severus strode down corridors confidently, never glancing back, until he reached the large, oaken doors of the Great Hall, where a woman of imperial stature stood, her long black hair pulled into a tight knot at the nape of her neck, eyes glittering. A small group of terrified eleven year olds huddled about her. Her mouth lifted slightly as Severus approached.

"Professor Snape."

"Professor McGonagall. These are our guests for this evening." With an elegant wave of his hand towards the crowd gathering slowly behind him, he turned his dark head ever so slightly towards the first years, and several eyes widened in fright.

"Welcome to Hogwarts." Professor McGonagall's voice was unmistakably warm, before she turned towards the doors that had swung open. Severus' eyes lingered a moment as the first years filed in, then turned one last time towards the group behind him.

"There is a table for all of you, if you would follow me." The Great Hall was magnificent, even in this time of mourning. Black hung from the walls, but the plates were still glittering beside their golden goblets, the sky was twinkling merrily above and warmth enveloped them. It was as if a huge boulder had been lifted from his chest, the moment he set foot in the hall. The tables for the four houses of Hogwarts were mostly filled. Slytherin, his house, was unmistakably near empty. A pale-faced boy smiled nastily from the table, his white blonde hair shining brightly in the candlelight. Severus gave him a curt nod as he ascended the staff table, and took his seat quietly, his roving eye catching sight of several red heads shining from Gryffindor table, and Harry Potter, the young wizarding hero, green eyes snapping back at Severus from his seat. His dark head was more unkempt and wild than ever, his defiant attitude reeking about him like pungent garlic. Severus looked away, a brief glimmer of anger sparking inside. The sorting would mercifully be swift this year, due to the small numbers.

As always, McGonagall placed the patched remains of a hat upon an equally worn stool, and the timid first years sat quaking, waiting to be sorted into one of the four houses. Severus felt his eyes wander listlessly around the Great Hall as a sonorous song filled their ears:

In times of happiness and times of greed 

_It will be time to learn something_

The guests were most curious and he found his roving eyes drawn to them time and time again. They all wore different colored cloaks and robes, their school crests sewn over the left breast. His gave rested for a moment on a group of three women, sitting next to one another conversing in low tones.

_I'll look inside and I will see_

_Yet I'm an old hat—or so it seems_

Long, chocolate curls cascaded over a rich blue cloak, red murmuring in their depths. Clear blue eyes wide, as a set of full lips spoke to a similarly built woman, thin hands absently toying with a shining curl. A pair of brown eyes met the blue, as thinner lips hesitated and spoke, golden yellow robes accenting the blonde in pale brown waves of hair, faint curls coiling at the end. With a slight movement of bird-like arms, she revealed the striking red of the innards of her cloak.

_I'll read your mind; I'll see your heart_

_I'll tell you just the place to start_

His gaze faltered a moment, green eyes fixed upon him, a gaze of depth penetrating his bones. He felt a sight shiver descend his spine to his empty stomach, as her thick lashed eyes blinked only a moment, and suddenly the enchantment broke. An involuntary gasp of air escaped his pained lungs, eyes narrowing in an intense study.

_It won't be far, it will be near_

_In fact, it will even be right here_

She was now uttering to the blue-eyed one, who fastened a suspicious glare upon Severus. His gaze never wavering, he returned the stare, and another, slight chill raised the delicate hairs on his neck. The women gazed at him a moment, green eyes overshadowed by slightly thick brows furrowing together in concentration. A slight puff of air escaped full lips and lifted chestnut brown bangs from her olive forehead.

_In Gryffindor, with courageous ones,_

_Or Hufflepuff, whose work is their fun,_

Her cloak was a rich green, with a midnight blue lining, and the robes she wore beneath a dark forest green. A glimmer of pink caught his eye and he realized that all the guests wore satin sashes of red or pink.

_Maybe Ravenclaw, to use your mind _

_Or Even Slytherin, to rise and climb_

It felt as if a hand were closing about his throat, as sharp stabs filled his chest. Pressing red-rimmed lids closed, he clutched the walnut wood of the table tightly in his hands. It was smooth, with a faint echo if the rich grain texture it had once had. The knots and knife cuts like a map as calloused fingertips traced along them.

_Breathe, damn it. Breathe._

_Courage, Loyalty, Intellect or Ambition, _

_I will figure your true mission_

A warm palm was placed about his sinewy wrist, squeezing comfortingly. Eyes flinging open, head slowly turning, Severus found no one there, only an empty chair. His blood turned ice cold.

_All you have, but one you prize_

_So put me on, and open your eyes_

"Addell, Cecilia." McGonagall's strong voice allowed the reverie to break, and once again, dark eyes were placed on the sorting.

"RAVENCLAW!" A brief round of applause.

"Montgomery, Mort."

"SLYTHERIN!" A twinge of hope, as the remaining Slytherins welcomed the skinny creature. The sorting seemed to fly by in an instant.

"Zemi, Tawanda" And was thus finished—"HUFFLEPUFF!" He felt the thick tension settle like a blanket over the hall. All faces turned blankly towards the guests. The professors were standing, as were the students, all lined up neatly.

"Adams, Sarah." The first to go forth was blonde, awkward like so many others her age, arms too thin, legs too long, nervous as a newborn foal. Though strong, not accepting fear as a part of her being, and sitting without a slight of hand.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

No wave of surprise flooded Severus, this girl seemed sure of herself, what with all the shining silver adorning her face. He supposed all the newcomers would be placed in Gryffindor, for surviving such terrible ordeals in the past week, for attempting a journey by broom known for its deaths rather than survivals.

Her voice tremulous, accent sharp on her tongue, the girl turned doe-like eyes upon McGonagall, "Excuse me, ma'am, but I don't know which table that is". McGonagall smiled sympathetically, and raised a stern finger towards the Gryffindors. White cloak swirling behind, the girl dashed towards and sat at the nearest open seat.

By the end, the guests were evenly placed, filling the empty seats of every table. Only their mentors remained afoot, chins raised proudly, backs straight. Dumbledore rose, catching the eye of someone, he paused, nodding graciously. Severus felt his head swivel mechanically and the green eyed woman stood, her stature petite, figure slightly curved. Her voice carried richly in the Great Hall as she spoke.

"We would, on the behalf of Evening Star School of the Magical Arts, like to thank Headmaster Dumbledore for his most gracious and welcome hospitality. We lost so much in the attack on our school, and only hope to gain in our knowledge and alliances through this change of environment. We would also like to extend our hands of friendship and our hearts to the students and faculty of Hogwarts." His hands clapping politely, eyes riveted to her as she once again met his intense gaze with an equally powerful one. As another short woman stepped forward, his dark gaze left to rest on a woman with a generously curvaceous figure, with glowing cocoa skin. Long braids ran elegantly over a blood red cloak with gold, like a river.

"We from the Quebec Wizard and Witches Academy of Eastern Canada wish to also extend our thanks, and to extend our friendship as well. Though some of us may be with the Beauxbaton Academy in our ancestral land of France," her accent certainly showed a French ancestry, but it was different. Its tone more rolling.

"We do feel," she continued "most welcome and are indeed grateful to be here at this most prestigious institution for learning." Politely bringing cold hands together again, he watched the woman regally return to her place with the others, as another came forward. It was the plump one from earlier! Severus felt himself recoil inwardly as the brighter lights of the hall only revealed more of her horrifying make up. Gold glittered from plump fingers that clutched at an orange cloak, revealing peach and yellow robes hardly hidden beneath. The same accent seemed to project itself from those red smears upon her face, "We are indeed, on behalf of the Peachtree School of Magic and Healing, most grateful for this lovely opportunity to become more close with our foreign friends, and we do hope to make life more enjoyable in these turbulent times. As we have all suffered, let us not wither away in defeat but stand together until the very noble end."

"Fine thing to say when you come from the south." The curly haired witch muttered; bright blue eyes flashing as the southern woman sent her a scathing look. Her lips curled into an unmistakable smirk as the southern woman finished, "We people of the South have a fine and noble tradition which we intend to uphold and share with our new friends, our new _family, _here at Hogwarts." She smiled warmly at the clapping students. Severus felt a wave of self-loathing rise like bile in his throat. How could he judge this woman on her appearance when _he_ï¼ï¼

"Thank you, Professor Juniper Lunar, Professor Anubis Wyne, and Professor Mildred Belle," Dumbledore's voice seemed distant, the women each bowing respectfully, ascending the staff tables. The smell of violets caught his nose and he turned to see the three witches, Juniper Lunar—green eyes, and the sisterly ones, sitting on either side.

"Now, we feast." At those words, food filled his senses, thick and rich. Raising a fork and knife expectantly, he was unnerved by a sudden blast of conversation on either side.

"Juniper Lunar, pleasure to finally speak to you."

"Willow Solaris, and this is my sister Ivy." The blue-eyed one seemed to snag Severus momentarily, her sister pursing thin lips in line of annoyance. Turning away hastily, focusing on the lamb before his knife and fork, he attempted to cut, as if nothing had occurred. With an angry snipe, "How rude!" Willow turned and was soon engrossed in a discussion on the Dittanies Professor Sprout would be introducing in class the next day. He could hear the rise and fall of Ivy's voice as she conversed with Professor Flitwick on Advanced Charms. Inwardly, his organs relaxed, mouth practically watering as the warm morsel of lamb was slowly engulfed. As he thoughtfully chewed, he was suddenly aware of the warmth radiating beside him, the carefully silenced consumption and slicing on the plate beside his. Eyes roaming to their corners, he saw Juniper gazing intently at him, as she absorbed the atmosphere around her. Her hands were small, obviously used and slightly worn, pink scars upon olive knuckles. Her hair was shorn short, slightly rough in places, as if a dagger had been taken to it.

With a slight raise of a dark brow, Severus turned his gaze fully upon her.

"Are you going to show me some consideration, or should I just chalk this experience up to you being a bastard and move on with my life?" her voice was low and steady. Sharply intaking a breathe, he regarded her snidely.

"I see the rumors about Americans being brass are true." Shoulders taken aback slightly, she leveled him with a cold, piercing stare.

"I see." Green eyes turned away, and he felt a wave of regret. They were dangerous, threatening to drown him before and now, but he yearned to gaze even---

With a mental shake, bony fingers resumed their task of cutting and serving his lips tender flesh, his mind awhirl with anything, something to distract him from the women sitting on either side.

The moon was descending when a long figure found itself gazing over the lawns, early morning dew shimmering like frost as it coated the grounds lovingly. Insomnia plaguing his soul, as he stripped from his sweat soaked clothing. He could smell the fear and bitterness sewn deep into the dark black clothe, his heart churning in sorrow. His bed no longer called, though brown eyes itched for sleep. He felt as if the world were crashing about him, and yet there was nothing he could do to stop it.

_The day you died I lost my mind._

The night would give way to light, light would bring relief; sweet, tangible relief. For only in the shadows of darkness can fear overwhelm, can sorrow cloak, can pain punish your being. He would lay and watch. Watch the flickering of the flames on the walls, he would gaze at the fires burning within, he would wait for light, and for the dawn of a new day.

lyrics © _Majesty_ by Clairvoyant and _Forsaken_ by VNV Nation


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

_Are you frightened of dying?_

Drawing ragged breath after ragged breath through wind-chapped lips, over leather dry tongue, down torn shreds of throat; thin hands clutched tightly about the cold stone of the windowsill, body stark to the chill of the morning, he tries to stand. Knees do not shake, nor does his torso; only arms, arms weak with exhaustion, arms weak with misery. Arms that cannot with stand the weight of the burden shouldered on this thin frame. Hair hangs in filthy clumps about a thin, twisted face; eyes squeezed shut against the weak light of winter illuminating the landscape.

Blue fills the pale skin, flesh alive with tiny reminders of the freezing bite to the morning chill. He does not turn away, but faces the break of dawn, determination rising in his features, the band of silver about his finger warming as if flowing with blood. As if pulsing with a very heartbeat; and the warmth spreads like honey, thick and slowly; to fingers, from there, to hands, gnarled with wear and time, to arms as sinewy as a rope, till it fills his lungs, flushes his face and throat, spreading across the skin stretched from bone to bone. As if rising from the dead, he lifts his face to the sun and eyes of pain burst open, accepting the pale light, accepting the blinding white of the landscape, accepting the destiny this dawn brings in its open hands.

The ring throbs on his finger, speaking to him and only him, a darkness flooding from heart to bone. As he turns from his post, his sight wanders about the room, resting on the darkened curls covering the pillows ...

_Fighting time, so much I ask, will this moment last forever ..._

Severus allowed his dark gaze to penetrate those green depths a moment too long, and he felt a slight shiver tingle down his spine, restingï¼.. the silence lengthened, he dared naught move, why, he didn't know. A hint of pink tongue nipped at full lips, moistening, before disappearing.

"Well? What do you say, Professor?" long lashes dove to cover those green oceans, a hint of a blush coloring the tips of elflike ears. Severus felt the familiar clench in his hands, the painful bite of nail into flesh, and drew a rattling breath.

"I have always trusted Professor Dumbledore's judgment, I see no reason to doubt it now," the girl—no, his mind corrected the arrogant assumption, the woman's shoulders lowered, a slight sigh of relief rushing its warm breath towards him, "However," the tension returned immediately, "this is _my _class, and I will run it as I see fit. You are not to interfere with my judgment calls, whether you deem them fair or not. Are we clear?" A glitter of audacity sparked from her.

"I will speak when I feel that you are unjust, I will not stand by and let my morals be completely tossed aside just so you can enact some childish grudge against students who may be different—just as you were more than likely different in your own time, _Professor_, if you are not still considered so today. If you behave in anyway that is unfair towards those undeserving, I will personally see to it that the injustice committed is wronged, publicly or not. Is _that _clear?" the steely edge to those words as they crossed such soft lips seemed to off set the balance of the room, a cold hand clutched the slick stones beside chestnut locks. Not a flinch or a flicker of fear from her, as he leaned dangerously towards those lips, every word spoken carefully, with as much restraint within him.

"I understand that I am speaking to an arrog—"her face suddenly blank, she turned soulless eyes wordlessly over his shoulder. Whirling with the swiftness of a panther, Severus found a pair of emerald green eyes narrowed dangerously at the scene unfolding, "Potter!" he snarled, venomous hatred filling his entire being almost as swiftly as pain, "Get into the classroom or else ten points from Gryffindor!" as the boy hesitated a moment, before skulking into the room, he knew before his eyes returned to her face what was brewing within.

"As you have just proven, Severus, you are capable of nothing more than petty anger and spiteful threats." Her tone was rising with the steam of pent up anger, waiting to erupt for far longer than this moment called for, "I see nothing has changed within your heart, and as for Professor Dumbledore, although wise, I see his judgment has been misplaced in placing you in a position of such authority. If he were to know what insidious—"

"I would prefer it, _Juniper_, if you would refrain from commenting on the past as much as possible when it comes to your morals and to my authority. You always did seem to have a way with twisting situations to suite yourself and your needs more appropriately than anyone else's, am I not mistaken? So before you question the judgment of a man you once trusted with your life, and if I am not entirely wrong with assuming this, you are trusting once again with your life, you will keep those lips of yours tightly locked, and allow your personal opinions to stay in that small brain of yours, and yours alone." The silky speech seemed to flow more easily from his lips than they did from the heart; which lurched as those green depths narrowed, body drawing against the slime-covered wall.

"The past, as we both know, Severus, creates the foundations of the future. If you feel my brain is small, and my opinions useless, I can see that the past has indeed set forth a most unsteady foundation for us to tread upon." With a whirl of green and blue, she strode away, positioning herself politely at the door of his classroom, body rigid. His teeth grinding in irritance, Severus walked sharply into the doorway, aware with every fiber of his being that she was more than a breadth behind him. Making way towards the head of the class, his gaze rested only moments on the new students, and then once again on Juniper, who had taken a post at the rear of the class.

"As you can all see, our numbers have decreased in Slytherin and gained in ï¼. _others_ this year. For the newcomers, I will not tolerate a lack of knowledge. If you are in fifth year potions, you are expected to perform as well as any fifth year here—"

"I can promise you, Professor Snape, that my students are more than well prepared for your class." Clear as a bell, her voice rose from where she stood, a smile on those lips, but every word as deadly as a double-edged blade.

"One can only hope, Professor Lunar. After all, even my students have their own little problems." He allowed one of his most darkened glares rest upon Neville Longbottom, perhaps one of the most incompetent students he had. The boy seemed to tremble, wide, watery eyes blinking several times. He felt a slight shudder down his spine at the familiarity of that gaze, "Let us begin, shall we? Today we will brew a potion for hysteria. This was most popular several years ago to produce amazing effects of hysteria on muggles. The potion must steep for three days, during that time, we shall also develop the antidote, and when a week has passed, I believe a little testing to see whose potion produces the best results will be in order." A low murmur began through the students as they began to work; Neville looking particularly shaken as he destroyed the soft leaves of the alihotsy plant, one of the key ingredients in this potion. A wave of regret surged through Severus. Children like Neville pained him to watch, for their struggles only made the most dangerous of magical arts that much more.

His gaze was steady when resting on the bent heads of students, but he felt them compelled to return to _her_, as she glided about the room. No, glided was not the word to describe the way she moved. She was a clumsy, small thing. Always had been, but it was half of her charm, the way she seemed to fall into your body and into your life. As she paused near Harry Potter, Severus felt a tremulous surge of bitterness well in his throat, souring his mouth. He had never cared for the Potters to begin with; and his dislike had grown from the moment that scarred boy walked into his classroom. Carefully, he made his way between tables and simmering cauldrons, eyes steadily rapt on that tiny back bent over the table. It was with a brief bit of shock and almost glee that he realized Potter's fire was not lit beneath his cauldron.

The enormity of that woman's heart was revealed to all as she moved to Neville Longbottom and a bushy-haired girl's table, gently removing the knife from Neville's shaking hands, which were dangerously close to severing fingers in most grotesque manner. Lips pursing ruefully, he descended upon the boys with all the intimidation he could render in his spine.

"Potter and Weasely, behind again, I see." The red-haired comrade of Harry, Ron Weasely, seemed poised in action, his eyes fearful. Very much aware of the return of anger brewing behind him, Severus drew his arms up, thoughtful and threatening, "I think a good detention might help you two to learn to follow directions more carefully," his lips curled into an all too familiar sneer; it was a comforting feeling to his face.

"Come now, Professor Snape," hearing his name come from her sent a thrill down his spine, a painful lurch to his chest, and a new feeling. The feeling of pain he had repressed, surging through out him, and suddenly he wanted her to hurt as much as he hurt, even as she spoke, he knew he could, "Surely you can see that these boys aren't behind. They were merely making sure that they had their ingredients prepared before they lit their fire. No harm in that, after, all, it would be a waste to light a fire and not have your ingredients prepared for it in time." Very steadily, very carefully, he turned to her, and lowered his head. Her head barely met his chest, and he remembered, the countless times he had drawn that head into his breast, her tears staining his heart as it beat for her, and only her. The anger grew monumentous in those brief memories; memories of sitting in front of warm fires, conversing in low tones, shared jokes just for their minds and ears, the scent of her skin, the texture of her lips, the delicate yet firm touch of her fingers, and the dam broke.

"This is _double _potions," he was aware of the animosity in his voice, that he spat these words in her face, and her eyes seemed slightly taken aback, but she stayed still. Her pride had always cost them, "Professor Lunar. It would be impossible for these boys to not have their ingredients prepared before the end of class." The anger melted from those green fields, and a deep hurt replaced them. She knew his tones, his nature, his ways, and she knew what she had lost in those few precious seconds. Turning away, stiff as a china doll, she forced a wide smile across her face, feigning glee.

"Well, it seems their fire is lit now, so I see no need for a detention, right Professor Snape?" Her eyes rose to meet his. Snape felt the coils of anger begin to unwind at the pain etched in her eyes.

_NO, _He commanded himself_; you will NOT let go this time._ And the pain lodged deep within as he broke their gaze, moving towards Neville and his partner, Hermione Granger, the words slipping over his tongue even before he knew he spoke them, "Of course, Professor Juniper. You are, after all, a _guest_." He could feel her stiffen behind him, more than likely suppressing an urge to wrap her hands around his throat and choke him. The whispered murmur of her voice pricked his ears, as a most menacing gaze was fixed upon Longbottom, before she moved on, the rustle of her garments faint.

"I thought I told you to not interfere with my classes," he growled, lips close to her ears. An annoyed flit crossing her features as heavy brows drew together.

"You tell me a lot of things, Severus. I don't always listen, in case you haven't noticed." She retorted, gathering ingredients from the table beside them and moving to the supply cabinet. He followed swiftly, closing the door behind them as she shelved the various bottles and vials.

"You have embarrassed me in front of my students—"she whirled like a tigress, green eyes flashing, ready to strike.

"As you embarrassed me. Or have you forgotten that, Severus? You seem to forget a great many things when it comes to your own flaws. Don't you remember? Perhaps I should refresh your mind." the strain was visible as elf-like ears slowly became scarlet. He could feel his heart quickening, adrenaline coursing like wine through out his being. Ascending upon her like a king, feeling the smooth muscles within his fingers as he wrapped worn hands about warm arms, and drew her close.

"Don't. Toy. With. Me." The breath was low and dangerous, a slight recoil was found within the shadows of green.

_Through thyne eyes, stare into me, I bare my heart for all to seeï¼ï¼ï¼ï¼_

A wrench within and he released her, her breath coming in gasps as deep as his own. Backing into the door, flustered hands searching for the doorknob, and within seconds she was gone. Struck still for only moments, he found his eyes rooted for a moment on a blue vial, one that was familiar. Whose name was familiar, whose potency was familiar, whose use was familiar. A confident hand grasped the vial and tucked it safely with the depths of darkness within folds of an old cloak. Turning softly, eyes locking with piercing blue, he stumbled back.

"What is going on?" the words firm, the tone level and yet tender. A thick lump grew within his throat as he gazed at those large eyes, chocolate curls framing her face. She moved ever closer, her clean, rich scent filling the room. He longed to intake a breath and relish in it all, the softness of her gaze sending him back to reality.

"Is there anything I can help you with, Professor Solaris?" his question hung in the air, as he attempted to turn his attention to the remaining bottles and vials. She brushed between them, slender fingers darting to gather between his own.

"Please, call me Willow" a curt nod in reply as he swiftly retreated into the supply cabinet again, "it seems you upset Juniper quite a bit today."

"I believe those feelings are mutual."

"Your past seems to be catching up with you, Severus." She came closer still to him, catching a loose bottle from the crook of his arms, "And I know all of it." The last a purr, his skin tingled as he set those vials nearby and reached for a well-worn rag. Diligently, he began to clean the nearby beakers.

"Really? Has Juniper been talking?" he let the words hang in the air, aware of the dangerous grounds he had begun to tread.

"She talks a great deal, always a little chatterbox. But I'm sure you were aware of that."

"Hmm."

"I think Juniper has feelings for you." She murmured, placing a beaker above the worn basin he stood before, a ripple of understanding flooding inside of him.

"And if she does?"

"Well, if you don't return those feelings, you should tell her. She could become very attached otherwise." The faint taint of manipulation that spilled forth this time was enough.

"I'll keep that in mind. Thank you, Professor Solaris." With those final words, he stressed the dismissal he wished. However, Willow perched upon a nearby oaken table, its worn surface gleaming from oils and inexperienced hands having worked upon it diligently. Clear eyes watching intently, burning into his spine, as he shelved the remaining clean beaker and began inspecting several older herbs and vials, making sure none had reached their end.

"How long have you worked at Hogwarts, Professor?" her tone thin, attempting to be friendly.

"Long enough." Sharp on his tongue, he instantly regretted his haste. She was, after all, attempting to make harmless conversation. Nevertheless, his raw nerves warned himï¼ï¼ "How long have you been teaching, Professor Solaris?" he was level, civil this time. A wide, sparkling smile broke.

"About three years. I must say, I never anticipated becoming a teacher. I had bigger plans than this." One dark brow lifted quizzically.

"Really? Such as?" There were several bags of Enclayrous that had expired. Best to remove them before their stench ate through their leather bags.

"Acting, Hollywood, you know. I was on the rise, when news of He Who Must Not Be Named resurfacing reached America. Several of our most prized professors were disappearing. My old school needed help. Juniper was already a full time professor, and she helped Ivy and I—that's my sister—to get positions that suited us. And then, the terrible events of last yearï¼.." her voice trailing, she suddenly wrinkled her nose, a look of extreme disgust filling his vision, "What is that smell?"

"Enclayrous. A common plant found in Africa. Quite potent for potions involving rendering your victim an imbecile, also, an amazing sedative for insomnia. However, its life is not quite as long as one would hope. The smell of aged Enclayrous can be rather vicious, and over time, the plants oils can eat through almost anything. Then it is quite useful for combative purposes, however, I am afraid that this batch may reach full potency before its needed, and thenï¼.well. That would be a shame." He placed the rotting pouches in a strong metal chest that lay on the bottom most shelves, dusty from disuse.

"What happens when it reaches full potency?" Willow inquired, catching him off guard, as her scent filled him. She was crouching near, her skin cool, cloak gathered in slim hands.

"It—uh, it—"where was his tongue when he needed to speak most? "It creates a rather large explosion, that can kill anyone within a ten foot radius." A slight gasp from beside him.

"Isn't that horribly dangerous to house in a school?" dark eyes implored hers.

"Aren't the times these children are becoming men and women in horribly dangerous as it is? I see no fault in preparing to defend their lives, whatever the cost that may be." He straightened, with a deliberateness, striding away from her, to a washbasin, where he began to cleanse his hands, "Now, if you'll excuse me, Professor Solaris, I have work to attend to." Her eyes narrowed as she moved silkily towards the doorframe.

"There is no reason to be so callous, Severus. I was only trying to be kind. It would do you well, to try to show the same courtesy the next time we meet." With a swift tousle of her curled locks and a squaring of shoulders, she was gone. Severus dried his hands slowly, eyes resting on the now empty doorframe, the cloth rough in his hands.

_And if rain brings with it change, let it rain on us foreverï¼._

It was a dull drizzle that pattered against the windows, the already drenched landscape shimmering beneath the grey sky above, clouds rolling in a haze. The fires that crackled merrily in the common rooms warmed damp students, as they studied and socialized.

It was down corridors of musty stillness, and eerie silences, that the chill crept. Under doors and through windows, pulling at clothing and draperies, settling in the lonely hearts of those shut away from the fires, and the social activity. Shut away from their masks and pride and ghosts. Wrapping fingers about like a long lost lover, it wormed into their souls, and drenched them with memories and pain.

"Its quite remarkable how the most mundane tasks can take away those painful memories of the past." A voice seemed to echo in the chamber, coming from behind. Fingers paused, as a dark head slowly turned towards the door. The firelight glowing on those straight, shorn locks, illuminating her curved figure as she rested against the stone frame, a sketchbook tucked beneath her arm, cloak of emerald clinging to her small figure. "Isn't it, Severus?" His eyes lingered a moment longer before he turned back to his instrument, strumming the chords gently. His only audience the broken desks and discarded chairs that lay about like bodies.

"Guitars are so cliché, hun." The words hung in the air.

"So are artists." He muttered, eyes flickering to the frame again, only to see it empty. With a heavy sigh, he continued to stroke his guitar; notes spilling forth like water, the tune jumpy, rough. Slowly, a melody formed, sweet, melancholic. Familiar. He stopped.

"God damn it." Severus struggled to force his fingers to find another tune, another song, anything that wasn't that particular one.

Several more notes came, and soon a more placid, simplistic echo filled his ears. For what seemed only like moments in his heart, but what was really hours, he strummed and stroked the worn chords. They were softer than stone, and yet as sharp as daggers to his ever-calloused fingertips. It was only when blood began to slip his fingers as he played that he stopped. The rain was still as heavy as it had been that morning, the sky the color of steel. Dark eyes slowly closed, feeling the icy chill of the room having settled within his joints. He couldn't stay here much longer, not with this dampness filling him. He would catch cold, and Severus would be damned if he would have that lunatic Poppy pouring her horrid potions down his throat, claiming it was in the name of health. _Oh no_.

Placing his old friend in its battered case, he moved to the hall, fingers tightening protectively around the handle. Eyes darting warily, he strode purposefully towards a tapestry, in one movement, he pulled it back and began to ascend the musty stairwell behind. It was a well-known shortcut, to Slytherin house, for it led from their rooms to an entrance right by the Great Hall. Where most exited, Severus froze and reached his hands above him, fingers trailing till they reached a chipped brick. He pressed firmly, and a small opening formed. Glancing about one last time, he gripped a rusted rung and swung his thin frame into darkness, guitar case following close behind. He crawled swiftly through the narrow tunnel, until a shaft of light pierced through the gloom, revealing a well-like opening that led upwards. More metal rungs, some covered with mossy slime, came beneath his palms as he scaled his way free. Finally, his head broke into clean air, the thick scent of rain washing over his sweat lined face as he gazed about ruefully.

The circular room was hidden in one of the topmost towers of Hogwarts, and known only by he, Dumbledore and perhaps a few other professors who longed for solitude on occasion. He had discovered it while he still was a student and the headmaster had allowed him to clean it, furnish it and make it his own over time. It was stark, by contrast to most of the common rooms, but it was still his. A fireplace where an old painting hung above, the worn yet supple rug thrown nearby, a few mismatched chairs and pillows, a music stand, the sagging bookshelves, and numerous journals scattered about where like a family to him. One entrance, only a few windows, whose draperies were flung open, and the toilet and sink enclosed in their own little room. The sound of running water met his ears, muscles tensed as he raised his wand, watching the mahogany door slowly open.

"I was wondering when you would get here." She stated simply, while drying her hands.

"What are you doing here?" he growled, pocketing his wand, wiping grimy hands on dirty robes, as he heaved the guitar case to his shoulder, dumping it by the window. She never answered, but he saw that she was gazing at the painting over the fireplace, in which a fire roared.

"You kept it." Her voice was low, throaty. Severus pulled his soiled robes off, and moved into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him, fully aware of the appreciative glint in her eyes as they raked over his toned torso. He ran the water over his hands, scrubbing mercilessly, steadying his nerves as best he could. Why did she have to come here? When he needed to be away from people now more than ever? Surely, she had forgotten the way, or so he had hoped. But apparently not, he chided himself internally. She wasn't stupid, he remind himself as he dug about the cabinets that held his most comfortable and comforting robes. He glanced in the mirror. Better, but not by much. Maybe if he pulled his hair back—then again, she had always loved the way it hung about his face—

NO. He mentally corrected himself as he dragged it into a long ponytail. Hands reaching for the doorknob, he calmed that throbbing organ in his chest. When he wrenched it open at last, she was out of his sight, a steaming mug of tea placed near a chair. His eyes flickered about, and rested on her as she stood by the entrance, eyes mournful. Her robes clung to her, soft to his eyes. He felt that longing rise again, radiating into his cold soul like it had so many times beforeï¼

"I—"her eyes darted once more to the painting, "I'm sorry to have disturbed you, Severus. I'll see you in class?" the last of her words brusque, as she moved swiftly down, her footsteps an echo. He stood frozen, eyes slowly roving around the room. In the farthest part, an easel was folded against the wall, the table beside it neatly arranged; watercolors and sketchbooks lined up, pictures hidden away, and a red chest, safely locked. How many of her books had melted into his own collection over the years? How many of the used journals were filled with her thoughts?

Numb, he retreated to his chair by the fire, thoughts of playing receding in his mind. Absentmindly, he pulled a warm blanket over his legs, while taking a sip of the warm tea. Peppermint; no surprise, she always loved to drink peppermint tea on rainy days. It had grown on him over time, preferable to the strong black tea he always drank—but there was a hint of something else in the tea. Could it be? He sniffed the wafting tendrils of steam, and took another, smaller sip.

She had blended his black tea and a daub of honey with the peppermint. A fist seemed to tighten around his heart, and he suddenly wished he hadn't been so dismissive. An ache filled his bones then, and the memory of a never forgotten pain that had torn him away from something that had seemed so special. Clenching his jaw decisively, Snape placed the mug firmly back on the table beside him and strode towards an old, battered liquor cabinet. The slightly rusty hinges hardly squeaked as he swung open the small doors. It took only a moments worth of rummaging to find what he had been craving ever since those green eyes had pierced his soul once again, ever since those blue ones had entered his life, ever since this bloody war had begun yet again. The blue bottle was dusty with disuse, as well as the chipped shot glass he withdrew with it. However, the sugar cubes he had sealed in a cloth pouch with a freshening spell, were still suitable. With a few flicks of the wrist, the shot glass seemed to glow as he poured the bright green liquid, and in moments he had lit a small flame beneath the dingy spoon he had placed the sugar cube on and the bittersweet liquid was down, followed by another shot. Sorrow filled his brown eyes as he gazed out the window into the sheets of rain that washed the surrounding lands, cleansing the earth, the warmth of the alcohol flooding his brains and the essence of the wormwood wrapping around his mind.

The piercing blue eyes of Albus Dumbledore rarely missed a beat, and this drizzly day was no exception. He watched from his tower window, far above the misty fog that was slowly forming over the grounds of Hogwarts, through the sheets of rain, straight into the heart of Severus Snape as he poured the second shot of absinthe through his lips. With a heavy sigh, Albus turned his wandering mind and equally wandering eyes to the heavens, nonchalantly searching for an owl.

"It seems as if all the pieces were falling into place, doesn't it?" a voice broke the thick silence behind him. With a slight nod, Dumbledore allowed them to continue. "However, I didn't expect her to make so many moves so quickly. Perhaps her feelings for him were stronger than even we suspectedï¼.."

"And what of Severus' feelings, my dear? He is a complicated man, not one to rush so hastily into such matters."

"For someone so complicated, he certainly seems to be acting like any other man, and stepping up to the plate rather adequately." The retort was more of a snap, quick and harsh. It hung in the air, and was instantly regretted. There was no reprimand from Albus; he only stretched his arm out to receive the small brown owl and the message tied tightly about its left leg.

"In due time, I am sure you will see what I have in him."

lyrics © _Genesis _by VNV Nation


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

_So afraid, open your eyes, unto a world that which awaits youï¼.._

Her hands were like ice as she clutched the wand tightly between her fingers, an ache that formed a lump deep within her throat; a lump that gave her the will to fight on, to face her oppressor and still go on.

No matter what the cost.

_A day that was not like thisï¼._

Cold, cruel eyes gazed unmercifully into her; into her soul, into her heart, into her very being.

_Do you still hear the laughterï¼._

The wind that whipped fiercely at raw cheeks nowhere near the strength of winds of hatred that bore into bruised and battered flesh, cutting like knives between her cloak and robes.

_And never forget the faces that haunt you_ï¼..

Though her heart trembles greatly, her body bears no signs of this struggle. Stiff, stoic, and determined, she raises her wand, the wood suddenly warming between frozen fingers, like the beating of a heart; it throbs against her palm, chafing the silver band that adorns her finger; the silver more cold than any chill in the wind, more cold than any hatred that slaps her face, more cold than the pain lodged in her heart. Though her throat can not utter the words she desperately needs, she will fight with all her being ï¼..

_Here I stand, unable to tell youï¼ï¼.._

_Please open your eyesï¼.._

It was with a sudden rush that those dark eyes found themselves open, breath caught in a worn throat. The dying embers in the fireplace and the blackness that enveloped the room told him he had fallen asleep, for much longer than planned. The chipped shot glass was still clenched within the tips of his fingers, a thick coat of sugar and toxins on his tongue, which lay in a dry mouth. The beads of sweat he had donned earlier had cooled and gathered his hair upon his forehead in a sweaty, sticky mass, which ensnared his hands in an endless amount of tangles as he attempted to push them from his face. His lips felt like the dried surface of a plateau, his eyes were itching in protest and he raised himself from the floor where it had seemed only moments ago he had fallen, trying to tuck the glass against his chest in a sad protection. A new crack had certainly appeared on its scarred surface, despite those efforts. With a deep and achingly long inhalation of air, he shelved the glass and blue bottle. Pulling from his robes, his hands uncorked the small vial whose color matched that of his poison's encasement. Tilting his head, exposing the smoothness of his throat, he allowed several drops of the potion to rest on his eyes before applying it to his tongue as well.

It was as if a mountain spring was cleansing his innards once the potion began to take effect. Severus paused in his march towards the bathroom, gazing for a moment at the painting that had rested faithfully above the mantelpiece for so many years. It was dusty and the colors had begun to fade from the piercing light of the summer suns, but it was still as gut wrenching now as it had been when he first received it. He turned his ever-hollowing eyes away, propelling himself into the bathroom, searching in the darkness for the taps of silver. Moonlight shafts patterned the tiled floor in long rectangles, casting mysterious shadows behind the toilet and cabinets.

_Let darkness come, take me awayï¼._

For the second time today, Severus stripped himself of the confining clothes he had longed for only a few hours ago. As the sound of running water filled the room, and steam began to waft out the open window, he felt the tightening in his chest begin to unravel, ever so slowly. The mirror needed cleaning, he realized, as he glanced at his reflection. Though dirt could not hide the plain fact that he was beginning to age and only every so often caught himself in the process. His body was still lean, toned and much more muscular than it had been in his youth, ironically. He flexed a little, feeling foolish, as he took in the lines about his mouth and eyes, deep grooves furrowed within his constantly drawn brow; dropping his arms to his sides. A small twinge of pride at the tautness of his skin over a slightly rippling torso, and the strength he knew he carried in his arms hummed in his mind. He had been a scrawny, greasy thing as a student, and now he was a man; now he had grown into the skin he once loathed, even come to appreciate the loneliness of his life, for it had opened up doors to find the time to hone his skills as a potions master, to work with his musical gift, to find the time to build his stamina and strength.

The water burned his flesh as he stepped within the confines of the porcelain tub, reminding him of a rainstorm as it blasted his slightly shaking body with relief.

_Here I amï¼. _

One day down, only a few hundred more to go, he reminded himself, working a rich lather into his hair, the suds dripping between his toes, swirling down the drain. He had never wanted a year to pass so desperately as he did now, a familiar knot locked within his stomach. He would have to contact several persons he'd rather not the following morning.

_Why is everything wrong?_

They were not pleased with him, and they hadn't bothered to mask it either. He still bore the aches from the mended wounds he had received upon their last encounters. He never felt himself sink to his knees, but he was aware of the slick cold that he rested his back on, curling into himself as the water cascaded over the limbs of a man, dying slowly inside, if not already dead.

_Fighting time, so hard I prayï¼._

"I trust you, of course, that's why." The sweet words sang in his heart as Dumbledore gazed at him, blue eyes seemingly open, waiting.

Yes, of course.

"I was aware of the toll this would have on you, however, I am still very much worried about your health and well-being. "

"It has only been a few days, Headmaster." He was very painfully aware of the crack in his voice nearly every time he spoke these days, and of the dark shadows that had begun to purple beneath his eyes as well.

"Perhaps a visit to Poppy would helpï¼." Severus felt his head snap to meet Dumbledore's now twinkling smile, a low growl in his throat.

"I would rather be mauled by wild manticores." He stated simply, feeling a twitch of a smile hover at his own tight lips.

"Good to see you're feeling better, then, Professor Snape. I still want you to get some rest this evening. Shall I have the house elves bring your dinner to your chambers?" Severus remained stubbornly silent, "It is alright with you, then, I see. Excellent. Thank you Professor."

No, it wasn't, but how could he argue with the headmaster when his head pounded as if a thousand drums were rehearsing within? Nodding quickly, he exited swiftly within a swirl of black. Professor Dumbledore sat silently at his desk, fingers laced together, before a figure emerged from the shadows, awaiting some sort of orders. But Albus merely nodded every so slightly before raising himself and going towards the cabinet nearest to him, withdrawing a small, stone basin within which was what appeared to be liquid gray clouds.

The figure hesitated a moment before dashing off in Severus' wake, leaving Dumbledore to himself, a faint smile hovering within his eyes, before he tapped his wand to his wrinkled temple and transferring the silvery wisp that was now firmly attached to wandtip into the basin. It swirled only a moment, before a memory came drifting out of the depths, the young figure of Severus Snape, from his schooldays, rotating ever so slowly. Albus rested his fingers together, eyes narrowing slightly.

"Its always about Potter, isn't it, Professor? I suppose I am just supposed to stand by and watch him make a mockery of all I stand for?"

"He's not making a mockery of it, Severus. He is fighting for the same cause you are—"his own voice echoed strangely in memoriam.

'"So, because of that, I stand by and let this continue? These injustices, these betrayals? He is almost to the same level as the enemy—"

"Enough, Severus." Albus winced; his tone was sharper than he had meant it to be that day. The young figure of Severus Snape shuddered slightly, lips tightening in a scowl, before he drew his robes tightly about that ever so thin frame and disappeared. Dumbledore felt the talons of guilt clutch at his back for a moment, fingers tightening on the bridge of his crooked nose, before he stood, stretching ancient bones, and placing the basin in its rightful place, sealed away from prying eyes and wondering mindsï¼.

_You have been left behindï¼ï¼_

Her whole being trembled as she waited within the shadows, eyes locked on the dark figure retreating away. How she had missed his voice—the way words spilled from those lips like water, cold and cruel one moment, gentle and almost loving the next. But always with depth, more than met the ears and mind. The way he had locked eyes with hers had been chilling to say the least. She was in constant turmoil, now more than ever. Her heart ached and throbbed with excitement, and warned her almost desperately, all at once.

There on the edge, no one will find you 

She wanted to curl into herself and just let go. Forget it all, and just be free of her demons. But the only way to do that ï¼ï¼was to face them. She steeled her nerve, placing one foot carefully in front of the other, she saw him pause a second too long before whirling about the corner. His head twitched, as if wanting to turn but he held himself.

She was so close, she could almost hear his heartbeat around the corner as she paused, waiting, hand pressed against the cool stone. Her heart was breaking with every second that passed; it was now or never. And at the last moment, she felt it drop. She felt the familiar wave of anxiety wash over her and without a second thought, she swerved on her heel and tore in the opposite direction as fast as she could.

"I'm just saying that maybe it's not a matter of whether or not people live or die. Maybe everyone just wants a war, they just want to see the blood and the pain and the anguish because the first time was so romanticized in its own sense. People talk of the first time of darkness as terrible as it was, and at the same time, the idea that every one moment was marked, that anyone could be a target, or that you could go from a normal, everyday life to a soldier in a war of the ultimate battle. Good versus evil, part of a greater purpose than what your life had appeared to be before al this—"

"Noble sentiments, hun, but let's put things in perspective. A greater purpose? Romanticized? What dream world have you been dwelling in since the last war?"

"I'm just saying its human nature, whether we like it or not. People don't take things as seriously as they used to. They don't understand the price they may have to pay, the price the ones they love may have to pay. Its ludicrous to think that these children could possibly be prepared for an all out war."

"Weren't we only children when the first war came?"

"That's beside the point!"

"Its exactly the point! There comes a time when innocence must be lost—who are we to say when that moment must be? Some of these so-called children will fare well; they are strong and ready for the challenges. Others will flounder, falter and fail, remaining immature, children, unable to grow ever beyond the age in which the death of their innocence occurs. "

"Speaking from experience, eh?"

"Oh stow it, you old cow."

"Old COW?!" Mildred raised herself in what she obviously thought was a menacing fashion. Juniper's bright green eyes flittered between Anubis, Mildred and Willow for a few moments as the silence thickened, Ivy's lips pursed in a manner that meant refusal on an apology, before Professor Lunar broke the silence.

"I think we are all getting carried away and need to take a moment to calm down. Mildred, please, have some tea. I mixed up a batch of some peach just for you the other day." Mildred nodded her head tersely, large earrings bobbing in response as she stalked over the long wooden table pushed against the left wall of the teacher's lounge.

"A war is coming," Juniper continued, keeping her voice as level as she possibly could, while absently waving her wand. The kettle scoured itself and began refilling with water from the sink, "we can not change that. We also cannot allow ourselves to become divided. In order to stand up against a force as strong as Voldemort, we must be strong within." Her eyes rested on Willow a moment too long and instantly, she regretted it.

"Why are you staring at me?" Willow demanded, eyes flashing.

"No reason. No reason at all, Willow." Juniper took a steadying breath, and turned to Anubis and Ivy, who was sitting sullenly, thin arms crossed over an equally thin chest. "We need to set an example for the students, we need to remain strong and unwavering in our line of duty. We need to prepare and train these children and young adults for what they will face in the coming months—"

"We know this, already, June." Ivy spat.

"I know, I am just reiterating a point. We need to stop contemplating the ways of why, destiny and all that jazz and just focus. I am not saying forget what will happen, and I am not saying to dwell on it either."

"Well, then, what are you saying my dear?" Anubis' heavy voice warmed Juniper's heart.

"I am just saying for all of us to watch our tongues and tempers. I am sick of the constant bickering and cut downs. And I for one am not tolerating it anymore. Is that clear?"

"Crystal." Willow stood with an air of authority and marched to the nearest exit, wrenching the door open, she stormed from the room, cloak whipping behind her. Ivy followed swiftly, shooting Juniper a murderous glare.

"What was that all about?" Juniper sank wearily into her seat, resting her face in her hands, aware that the only noise Mildred now uttered was a soft slurp as she drank her tea.

"I don't know, Anubis. I wish I did. Sometimes—"she hesitated "Well, wish in one hand, they say." She finished lamely, standing with the careful stretch of woman three times her years.

"I am going to go prepare tomorrow's lesson. How is the tea, Mildred?"

"Delicious, honey, thank you very much. Don't let those girls get you down, dear. Beauty isn't forever, you know." With an agreeable nod, Juniper left with purpose and care in every footstep, her mind full of questions.

"I can't stand that shrew." Anubis muttered darkly.

"Who? Miss June?"

"No, no, Willow. She has got a lot of nerve, her and Ivy both do." Anubis sipped her coffee, annoyance etched in every feature.

"Oh I agree, darling. That girl has attitude and little brains to back it up. But as I've said before—and I'm sure you remember, she will get her come-uppance. It's only a matter of time." Mildred licked her lips, checking for any remnants of the tea she had finished, "That was just like the tea back home. Juniper knows her leaves, I tell you what."

"She knows a lot of things, most of which I am sure she is keeping to herself right now." Anubis adjusted her robes, and raised herself, cup clutched tightly within her elegant fingers. Mildred blinked in a bewildered sort of way, as she cleaned the cup with a wave of her wand. Anubis met her glance and then nodded very slowly. "Yes, I am sure of it." Mildred nodded briskly and with an elegant imitation of a bow, swept from the room with unusual grace for someone her size. Anubis stared absent-mindly at the wall before her, twirling her mug.

_There is definitely a few nuts missing from the tree in Willow's head, that was for damn sure, and if it hadn't been for Juniper's power in her school back in the states, then Ivy and Willow would have been on their asses, jobless, and none would have to tolerate their ridiculous presence now_, she thought to herself, a twinge of annoyance catching her off guard, _Why can't Juniper see what horrible people they are? They've never done a thing to prove themselves worthy of the care and respect she and hundreds of other wizards give them—but how? Why?_ It was in that moment, the realization hit her with the weight of a thousand stones. _What are they planning? And-more importantly-who are they planning it with?_ Fear sent her stomach lurching. Without even thinking, she bolted from her chair and out the door, not giving a backward glance as her ceramic mug smashed to the floor.

"No, no, hun, you don't want to do that! It will cause an adverse reaction that will be most unpleasant. Now, let's look at the order of ingredients that Professor Snape recorded on the blackboard earlier. See? Powdered wormwood, _then_ dried owl droppings—you don't add your essence of mandrake until line six. Now, isn't that much better than smelling like a dead animal for five days? I thought soï¼" Professor Lunar gave a small pat on the back to Seamus, who smiled gratefully, before gliding towards the table of none other than Draco Malfoy, whose face seemed to turn a faint shade of pink when she stepped next to him.

A slight rush of jealousy caught Snape by surprise as he watched that small frame stoop over the steaming cauldron, as her lips parted in a most delicious smile, that showed her white teeth, that filled her face with an exotic beauty. He felt his insides squirm uncomfortably when she touched the broad shoulder of Malfoy, before turning to another student. Her approach to teaching the class seemed to be the polar opposite of his methods—and it seemed so dramatic as to mean it was purposeful. Then the anger would fill him, the thoughts of how dare she and who does she think she is, only to be intensified when he realized that those lagging students were now flourishing under her attentive eyes and adept fingers.

He wanted to curse her into oblivion.

Allowing the curtain of dark hair to mask his features, he glowered at the students nearby, causing several to cringe and begin stirring more vehemently. As he relaxed his stance, and began to move back towards his desk, it seemed as if something very soft had tickled his arm. He froze, feeling as if a thousand buckets of ice and snow had just been poured over his head, as he turned and came face to face with _her_. Her heavily lashed eyes were unblinking as she met his own brooding gaze, only her gentle breast moving, ever so slightly as she breathed. His eyes traveled to dark lips, shining and soft, then neck-elegant as a swan's, the color of tea, her scent filling his senses, like the water and mint, with dark jasmine, and a brooding, mysterious scent, like the full moon on a spring night--and he was torn desperately. Rage had surged through him only seconds before and now, suddenly, he felt like a schoolboy again. His large palms were sweaty, his once comfortable robes seemed to itch all around, he felt tall and towering, and he couldn't seem to think clearly.

"Professor Snape," she murmured, squeezing by him. Her hips ground against his leg, as a desk pushed into her very round rear; she arched her back like a stray cat, attempting to not brush too much of herself against Snape, but only succeeding in grasping the attention of every single male in the dungeon, as her robes stretched across her petite frame ever so slightly. Snape shot her a murderous look, moving out of her way immediately. She sent an equally frightening grimace in return as he nearly knocked her down in the process. Gripping the edge of a desk, she nodded very carefully, "Thank you, Professor. I do so hate it when people get in my way." She finished curtly as his back receded from her. He pointedly ignored her for the remainder of the hour.

When the classroom was filled with a bilious cloud of thick smoke, only then did Snape see a flicker of panic in Juniper's eyes as they ushered the coughing students into the hall, attempting to quell the flames that had begun to lick the ceiling from a bubbling potion, whose contents were streaming over the edges of a cauldron on the floor. The purple and blue flames were rather difficult to extinguish and a thick sheen of sweat had bathed Juniper's brow as she shouted incantations by his side. Her hair was frizzed and her robes singed when they finished, but her cheeks had an attractive flush and the flashing in her eyes was downright adorable--or so he thought. The feeling of them working side by side, as a team once more, brought back such powerful emotions ï¼..

One glance at the mess, and he knew the cause.

"Longbottom, Potter; detention and ten points from Gryffindor." Protests began to fill his ears, "Class dismissed." The bark startled the students no more than usual and each quietly gathered their things. Juniper had not bothered to argue his sentencing of the two as the room emptied and they were alone.

"Thank you for your help." She stood stock-still, knuckles white around her wand.

"Thank you." He replied, stowing his own in his pockets as he moved closer. He could smell her, the rain, jasmine, and mint; mingling as one perfume with the acrid stench of the mess those wretched students had caused. Her nose was practically touching his, her breath warm on his lips. "Juniper, I-"

"I can't do this. Not again, Severus." She whispered, swallowing thickly. He cupped a hand to her jaw, feeling the smoothness of the skin beneath calloused fingers.

"Just once, can't we forget the past, can't we forget what happened?" he begged, his voice the merest trace of murmur. Tears were shimmering in her eyes, so brightly green they could have been jewels.

"I can't." her voice was resolute as she stepped back, almost stumbling over her own feet. "I want to, but I can't." it was as if a knife of the sharpest blade had punctured his lungs and he sagged back, knowing he should have expected this.

"Go." His voice was raspy, harsh in a way she knew to be familiar, "Go. Get out. NEVER COME BACK! Isn't that what you had planned?" Juniper flinched slightly and a tear slid down her cheek. His heart broke in half. "Isn't that what you planned?" he roared a second time.

The brunette shook her head in disagreement as she stood her ground a moment longer.

"No." it was a forced, choked whisper, before she turned on her heel and was gone, his screams echoing behind her.

"Then why did you come back?"

The swell of violins and cellos filled the orchestra hall, as heads craned on necks to peer between shadows towards the stage where an elegant line of dancers turned and glided in time with the melancholic notes that thrummed and vibrated from the domed ceiling and within the balconies of royals, high officials and other important figures of Britain. Several well maintained mustaches and beards were hiding frowns of worry and mouths drawn in tight lines of deep thought. Women smiled politely however, others fanned themselves in boredom with worn and wrinkled playbills. All were clothed in elegant silk and satin dresses, fur stoles draped around their shoulders, expensive jewelry glittering from every neck, ear, and finger; hair perfectly coiffed in the latest fashion; each becoming more dated, less immaculate as the hall raised itself towards the darkened bellows of the back, where one particular group of people would have been unnoticed had it not been for the garish color of the young women's cloaks, which were a vibrant red and the other a vibrant green. Their smiles lit their faces with an unnatural glow, lips parted slightly in awe as the dancers turned on perfectly pointed toes and began to glisside offstage. A dark haired man sat to the right of one, his hand entwined with hers, lank greasy hair hanging about his thin, sallow colored face as he sat languidly back in his chair, a playbill rolled up in the other palm.

"Oh my, look at how lovely her arabesque is!" the one with the green cloak exclaimed as the prima ballerina made her entrance.

"I know! And the costume! Do you see the glittering on her left shoulder? Freshwater pearls, I would stake my life on it—and black, too, no doubt." The one is red replied, long nailed fingers barely pointing.

"Do you see, darling? The pearls? Aren't they lovely?" she breathed in his ear, and he felt his heart warm.

"They would look exquisite on you." He whispered back, laying a sensuous kiss on the base of her throat. She blushed, her smile deepening.

"Someday, maybe." She murmured. His heart thudded at those words. _Someday, maybe_. "Someday, soon." He reproached, kissing her fingers.

"You're making me ill." The voice to their left hissed slightly, smirking all the while as they took on the shamed look of puppies. The final notes of the piece began to gain in speed, and all were on the edges of their seats as the end of the first act came to a sudden climax, followed by darkness and the loud abundance of applause. Hands groped for purses and canes as the bodies rose and began to exit the theatre into the lobby, which was as deliciously decorated as the cushioned seats and plush carpeting of the theatre itself. Glasses of sherry and brandy passed from vendor hands to darkly colored lips and parched throats, as the chattering gossip of the wealthy exuded the air.

The trio themselves were draining mugs of hot buttered rum, as they stood under the snowy eaves and awnings outside, their breathes vaporous clouds before them. Here the poor, who could not afford a membership with committee and boards of the numerous theatre houses, gathered to smoke their fags and drink their ales. While the wealthy patrons sat on velvet couches and in dark paneled parlors, they froze the tips of their ears and fingers in the icy winter roads and on the slush covered sidewalks. Though none seemed to care as their equally excited chatter shot back and forth between huddled groups of freezing young men and women. Their only contrast in gossip was that most of these vagabonds seemed to care for the artistic merit of the show more so than the color of Miss So-and-So's hair or whom Mister Big-Man-This-and-That was sleeping with this week.

"Oh please, that's ludicrous." The young woman in red flipped a lock of jet black, slightly curly hair over her shoulders, ears jingling as several silver pairs of earrings clattered against one another, pale skin almost the color of snow exposed to the cold. Her hazel eyes glittered as she took a long drag from her cigarette. The full yet broad lips that wrapped about the tip were a shade of red that matched her cloak; which was a rich, wine-colored brocade, lined with black fur. While she was obviously the descendent of wealth and power, she chose to spend her hours in the company of those less fortunate. After all, appearances can be deceiving, and she as no fool to this logic. The young woman in green smiled in a pained way as she sipped her drink.

"It's true. I'm telling you, one of these days, they are going to link smoking to death, you just watch. Its not good for you." The dark haired man beside her exhaled and kissed her cheek with all affection.

"Tell death I'm ready and waiting." He and the raven-haired woman shared a laugh as the green eyes of his love narrowed.

"Oh, very funny. You're a real ham, let me tell you. I'm serious, even if you aren't. What a joke, to tempt death. You know—" but he never did get to know, for at that precise moment, an explosion like no other ripped the sky in twain, as a thundering roar sounded from deep within the opera house. Several cries and the thousand shrieks of the people trapped inside flung them into the streets, as bits of wood and cement, plaster and charred paint rained upon their heads.

"What the hell?" a strangled voice gasped beside him.

"It's an Enclayrous bomb!" he shouted, keeping his arms protectively about the two, as the green-clad woman struggled to free herself.

"Enclayrous or not, they need help in there!" her voice was at a panic pitch.

"Calm down, Juniper! There's nothing we can do now, except get away. The fumes from that bomb will be filling the street in no time and if we aren't somewhere safe, we'll need just as much help as they do." His voice was guttural as he silently prayed they hadn't already begun to inhale the noxious fumes. "Cover your mouths with your cloaks and follow me!" He saw the tears in Juniper's eyes as she did as she was told, their hands gripping one another's tightly as he led them away, down dark alleys and back streets in the direction of the nearest train station. Sirens had already begun to fill the air; several flashing lights sped down the frozen roads towards the burning opera house.

"We should have done something to help them." Her voice cracked as they wove along, and he had to bite his lip to stave a reply.

"We couldn't have done anything to help them, Juniper." Her friend reasoned in a low, regretful tone. They had reached the trains, the dim glow of the lamps and lights a comfort in the stark white of the drifts of snow that surrounded. A delicate tumbling of snowfall had begun as they had stood outside and now it began to swirl about rather swiftly.

"We need to get out of the city." He reasoned aloud, more to himself than to them, but they were reassured none-the-less, and the darker of the two women stepped forward with a brisk nod.

"I'll get the tickets, you two stay here." He watched her stride confidently to the ticket master, tapping her foot impatiently as she waited behind an elderly woman, a young married couple and their newborn son, and another, almost dwarfish young man who was currently acquiring his ticket, before he turned his attention back to the disparaged eyes of Juniper, who was watching the thick clouds of green and yellow smoke fill the dark night sky a distance away.

"Are you alright?" he inquired, taking her shoulders in his large hands. Slowly, her eyes met his, tears gone but pained still.

"I dropped my mug back there. It's alright, isn't it? No one will be angry, will they?" she was gone, somewhere else in her head. With a deep sigh, he drew her into his breast.

"Yes, my dear, its quite alright, no one will notice or care. I'm sure it will be fine." He held her tightly, aware of how thin and small she was, how fragile she could seem at times.

"I love you, Severus." Her lips moved against his chest and he breathed a sigh of relief that she could still recognize him. They didn't seem to have breathed in any of the smoke after allï¼.

"I love you, Juniper." He murmured, stroking her hair. Their friend was beside them before long and handed him their tickets. As they boarded the train that was waiting at Platform Eleven, its engine groaning with desire to depart, the thick torrents of steam its chimney spewed melting in the cold air, he realized that the young couple was familiar but took no notice as he helped the two women to climb aboard, tucking his ticket into his pocket. How the dark lord had managed to plan an attack without their knowledge at a place someone should have known they would be at disturbed him, but not so much as the sight that haunted his mind as the train pulled away and a second explosion, a lesser explosion rent the night sky in half. He could see the bodies that had fallen to the floor in the lobby of the opera house playing in his mind like film; could see them writhing in agony as their inner organs boiled and burst, could see the skin bubble and ooze on the faces of strangers-while they had raced away from danger like sewer rats and cockroaches, him shielding their innocent minds from the horror he had witnessed. With an involuntary shiver, he drew Juniper closer into his side and stared out the window at the fronts of the shops and stores he so knew and loved in London, and left his home far behind, the contemplative face of the woman across from them etched in his memory like a mask, a chilling reminder that he possibly hadn't saved them as well as he had hoped.

lyrics © _Left Behind_ by VNV Nation


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

_December 22, 1979: departs: London, England at 9:35 p.m. – arrives: Edinburgh, England December 22, 1979 at 1:37 a.m._

The cracked and yellowed slip of a ticket was still resting faithfully between the cloth covers of a particularly boring book Severus was sure no one in a thousand years would have touched, saved Hermione Granger and she was nowhere near his study, his secret home away from home. He didn't need to glance at the slip, the letters, the tearstains to remember what he had tried to forget so long ago.

It haunted his dreams whenever he let his guard down. He could remember every lingering note of the ballet they had watched—never _the Nutcracker_, she had always proclaimed how cliché that particular show was to see during the Winter Holidays, and he had obliged her eccentricities. He remembered the taste of the buttered rum, more potent than one would have expected, but then again, that had cost him an arm and a leg as well, so it had better be damn good, as he had commented when they first toasted to a new year of excitement, a future of the three of them. He could still smell the mustiness of the seats they had managed to purchase for that particular show. It had been a year of hard work, scrimping and saving every galleon and knut for those tickets, and he would never forget the pure, unadultered joy that had lit the features of Juniper Lunar when he had presented them to her as an early Yule Gift. She was equally touched that he had remembered to include a third ticket for her best of all friends. The three of them had been almost as inseparable as Potter, Weasely, and Granger.

No. He hadn't forgotten.

And judging by the fear that had formed on her features no more than two weeks ago when that explosion had occurred in Potions, neither had she.

It chilled him to the very bone whenever he thought of that particular moment in his past.

Again, Severus found the familiar blue bottle and small, chipped glass in his hands. This time, it had taken far more to place him in the sedative state he was now blissfully experiencing. One he did not relish casting off in a few hours time. Potter and Longbottom had been given overly stern lectures on following potions procedures and their little team had been divided in class. They had spent two days cleaning the classroom, by hand, muggle-style, and Severus had only wished he could have destroyed it a second time just to see them squirm. But no, he would not be cruel, not with them anyhow. Not yet.

He took another swig of the disgusting green liquid; aware he was pushing himself, taking things a little too far. He didn't care, he wanted to be lost, gone in another world for once, leaving his own god forsaken hell far behind; never to return. But things were never that simple. _She_ had seen to that, just by returning back into his life. He was surprised her twin hadn't accompanied her, but then again, wherever one was, the other was certainly lurking around the next corner.

"Where are you, Queen Mab?" he muttered to no one and himself all the same, before letting his chin drop to his chest and his world-weary eyes finally close in a much-needed sleep.

In a swirl of fury, the emerald green cloak that signaled the end of Autumn and the beginnings of Winter for a petite brunette, whipped about the corners of Hogwarts. Her footsteps heavy, almost thundering as she flew past empty classrooms and quiet corridors, before stalking out into the bright light of a fading season. A chill had settled upon the grounds the night before, and this last day of warmth was drawing the students outside in swarms-even the studious Ravenclaws were gathered under the trees in clusters as they studied and pored over their text books. Swerving away from the crowds that were nearby, she turned the corner of school building and found herself tracing a slightly worn path that led to the Forbidden Forest; its gnarled trees and dark underbrush unusually deceptive-they were almost inviting this morning. Thrashing through like a madwoman, Juniper stalked through as if she had naught a care in the world, following a memory and a dream in her mind as she wove through the thickening trees. It was darker as she moved deeper into the heart of the forest, and soon, all light and warmth had escaped her vision.

"Lumos." Her wand tip ignited and she followed the beam of light it created carefully now, watching her feet so as not to trip over protruding roots. Before long, she had reached a circular clearing in the trees, one where a ring of toadstools rested within the center. She skirted the toadstools warily and continued on, a slight trickle of sweat under her arms. That was close, too close to danger. She would have to slow her pace.

Past the dropping ferns and fronds, she found herself at the edge of a dark stream, whose rippling surface, unlike other streams, was silent as death itself. The obsidian waves a dark opaque that hid from view anything dwelling below. Clutching her wand tighter, Juniper walked up the length of the river, before the thick trees blocked her path. No bridge was visible. She followed it back down, daring not to pause for more than moment's breath. As her eyes raked the space of light her wand provided, she finally spotted the rotting, swinging bridge that she had been told would be here. It looked more than unsafe, but her nerves were steeled. Slipping the slender wood of her wand between her teeth, she gripped the vines and rope that were handrails and slid her foot onto the first decayed plank that would lead her across. It swayed beneath her weight, but she forged ahead, alighting gratefully on the path opposite the end she had started, amazed she had not dropped over to her death while crossing. Though the bridge was above the troubled waters no more than a foot or two at most, and the stream itself couldn't have been very deep, its darkness held other secrets she dare not reveal today.

Her journey led her on till she reached an old, but well kept shack that leaned against one of the larger trees in this part of the forest. Her heart thundered in her chest as she moved towards the doorframe, its dark stained wood almost as menacing as the stream itself had been. The door was on slightly rusted hinges, and she could sense movement behind the curtained windows, which no light came from, though a fire must have been warming the inside, since smoke puffed lazily out of the chimney. Raising her fist, she tapped lightly on the door, once, then paused, before tapping three times in rapid succession, pausing once more, to tap twice before dropping her hand to her side. Her wand was held ready behind her back and she knew that if she had been followed, it would be of no use.

The shuffling of feet met her pricked ears. She strained them for any more sound. The scrape of a chair and another pair of feet, following the first, with a whispered argument before the door began to crack open ever so slightly.

"Password." A low voice grunted. With a smile of relief, she pocketed her wand.

"Thank god, it _is_ you, "her voice betrayed her joy, "_Buckbeak's Brigade_." The door swung open and she was ushered in, among a hearty set of greetings, the light of the interior indeed a warm glow from the roaring fire, before it was closed swiftly off from the darkness outside.

Splintered wood littered the stone floor and the cursing that had echoed only moments before in Snape's private chamber seemed to still reverbrate on the walls. His beloved guitar was destroyed, his own hands having done the deed, and now he pulled the splinters from the calloused palms with a vengeance, his heart hurting in a way he had tried to hide for the past fifteen years. How could he have been so blind as to not see what was happening to himself until now? That question had invaded his mind once the effects of the absinthe had worn off, and the darkness had pulled him under. Strange fantasies had visited his mind this time, dragging him into the well of despair he knew he harbored in his lonely breast. He had been deceived, and there was no one to blame but himself.

With a wave of his wand, the mess was swept into a dustbin. Locking the cabinet that hid his poison, Severus strode to the window and gazed upon the campus grounds below. No doubt he had missed out on another truly spectacular fading Autumn day, and his suspicions were confirmed when he saw the lagging students slowly beginning to stretch and retire to the castle itself. Save for a few. Some children were practicing their quidditch, others were still insisting on working on their homework outside. His face drew into a grimacing scowl as he spied Potter, Weasely, and Granger gallivanting about near the pond, their laughter loud, their actions animated. When Potter's back was turned, he saw the look of longing Weasely chanced at the ever-shapely Miss Granger.

Severus's frown deepened and he turned away, the past once again trying to force itself into the foreground of his mind. But the strings were already thrumming in his mind, the telltale bass of the brass and the building of the drums, as the lights dimmed and a stage glowed in his memory. Opening the trapdoor in the floor, he shoved himself down it, shoving the memory in an equally rough manner to the recesses of his mind's eye. It was high time he saw the Headmaster and received his instructions for the Winter Holidays—he had little time to prepare otherwise.

The hallways were littered with students when he made his own angry stalking through the corridors and stairwells, several times he had to fight the urge to remove house points from his own house as the fervor of the day oozed from every smile and excited chattering of conversation. He felt satiated in the fact that he had at least diminished the house points of Hufflepuff by fifteen, with Ravenclaw at a close second with ten. Gryffindor students were enraged to learn they had lost a whopping thirty points in the short span it took them to reach their common room from the front doors. But his misery did not destroy the festive spirits of those incorrigible students, and he knew that it would not be long before Filch, McGonagall and a fair few others would have to tame the noise of their dormitories. Finding himself at the secret entrance of the Headmaster's office (or as it seemed thanks to Potter and Weasely, not so secret after all), he muttered the password and waited patiently for the revolving stairs to draw him to the closest thing to a father he had ever known.

It was with great trepidation that he entered Dumbledore's office, knowing that whatever the consequences would be, his actions would serve a greater good. Though it didn't make it any easier to know that his life was hanging in a delicate balance every time he set foot outside of the school castle. Dumbledore himself was waiting patiently when Severus entered, standing regally behind his desk, hands resting comfortably on the scrolls and parchments that littered its face this evening.

"Good evening, Headmaster." He was hiding something; Dumbledore always knew when he was.

"Good evening, Severus. And how are you feeling on this fine day?" Snape kept his eyes unfocused and slightly downcast.

"Fine, Headmaster." With a heavy sigh, Dumbledore came from around his desk, resting his hand on Severus' shoulder.

"Severus, my boy, its quite alright to not be _fine_, even when you so most desperately long to." Snape let his gaze fall to his feet. Dumbledore released his hold and turned back to his desk, plucking a small object from it that was strangely shaped. "Now, as we all know, the Winter Holidays are coming upon us at a rather rapid pace. And I don't want my professors to become over stressed. We have several more new instructors arriving from around the globe and I just wanted to warn you beforehand what to expect. Here is a detailed list I am sure the enemy would like to have fall into their hands-" he handed over a list of false identities to Severus and watched as the professor perused it for a moment, before nodding his head and sliding it into his robes, "And here is a sealed list of the true newcomers we can expect to pop up in the next few weeks." Severus again nodded, and pocketed the cylindrical device that held the documents safely inside, vowing to read it later at his leisure.

"Now, we both know what must be done. These are secure points here and here, safe houses if you will-"he gestured to a large map that was spread across his desk, where certain purple glowing pinpricks were marked, "These people who have willingly gone on the first list will not go down without a fight, though most are aware they may indeed still go down. They are prepared for this challenge that has been set forth, they know their orders, the only thing is, they are unaware that you are working under _my_ orders. This secret must be kept from them at all costs, do you understand me, Severus?" he smiled a frightening, yellowed smile at the Headmaster.

"I understand, Headmaster. I will not let you down." The headmaster pressed his lids closed, and sighed once more.

"I never doubted that you would, my boy. Now, one more thing, and I think this shall really tickle your fancy. An early Yule present, Severus." He handed over the strangely shaped package, and a merry twinkle filled his eyes.

"Ah, ah, ah!" he warned as Snape's fingers darted to the green ribbon like a spider, "Wait until you are alone, in the privacy of your chambers." With a warmer smile, he pocketed the present along with his papers and bowed slightly.

"Thank you, Headmaster." Albus waved it away offhandedly.

"Think nothing of it, do you hear me?" checking the sky outside his window, Dumbledore gathered the papers on his desk rather swiftly, "Well, we must get going, Professor Snape; there is a feast to attend to this evening, you know. A most wonderful feast if I am to trust the report a certain house elf presented me with this morning." Severus followed the Headmaster until they had reached the landing for the feast, though while his heart yearned to enter the Great Hall and join his fellow scholars, he hesitated, mumbling an excuse about having to change his robes. The merry twinkle in Albus' eyes did not diminish as the brooding Potions Master stalked away.

It took him moments to find his office hidden far below the school, cool and welcoming, despite its austere and silent appearance. Resting the objects he had received on his own desk, Severus examined the packaged carefully.

_An early Yule present_, the words echoed in his heart. It seemed as if an eternity has swelled between this year and the last. His past few Yule presents had been, admittedly, strange, though always thoughtful. Dumbledore had a habit of handing out warm, woolen socks with each House Crest sewn on them, and while Severus found that his socks did tend to disintegrate rather quickly, those particular pairs always managed to last until the very day he received a new pair. Only on a few rare occasions did Dumbledore find something truly unique that warranted being presented to his educators; like the year he had given Severus several crystal phials for some particularly potent potions.

And this package indeed suggested something far more interesting than a pair of socks.

Still, he held his curiosity at bay, and instead took out his wand, tapping the tightly encased parchments of the new arrivals names. The list wasn't as long as the first arrivals had been—it seemed only two schools were sending forth their professors and students, and a fewer number of pupils than the first set had sent along with Juniper, Willow and the others.

The scent of Willow seemed to catch Severus off guard, his dark eyes suddenly darting about to see if she were near. The door to his office was securely locked, but were those footsteps he heard approaching? Resealing the papers, he slid them securely into his pockets once more, and stood as the knock sounded, strong and confident.

"Come in." a flick of the wrist unlocked the door, allowing the auburn curled head to peak in, a large smile lighting those pale features and stunning blue eyes. He held his stoic stance, returning a vague, half lipped grin.

"Professor, I was wondering if you were going to join us for the feast this evening. I rather suspected you would be locked away in your office until the wee hours of the morning if I didn't check in on you." Snape allowed his head to tip a bit in agreement.

"How kind of you, Professor Solaris. I was just on my to the Great Hall-after tidying up, I'm sure you can understand." Her smile never faltered, as she offered an arm.

"Wonderful, than you shan't mind accompanying me?" Here he held back, staring at the slender, milk colored skin as the dark cloak and robes fell back. The memory of an orchestra tempted his ears, but with a force unknown to even himself, he shoved the betraying thoughts back, far back and slid his cold hand through her elbow, taking the lead and allowing his arm to be the one she instead took.

"It would be my pleasure." The words oozed like oil and with another dazzling smile in his direction, she allowed him to lead them away from his office and the small Yule present resting atop the desk.

Hogwart's students were known for their gossip; the teaching staff themselves were rather adept gossips as well, though few of the students were aware of that fact. When Willow and Severus made a rather dramatic entrance into the Great Hall, the feast had already begun, and many a head turned, swiveled or did a double take in their direction. It was with grim satisfaction that Severus noticed not only Potter's green eyes bulging out of his head, but another, lovelier pair mimicking that reaction from the staff table. They glided forth, seemingly without a care in the world, and leaving even Dumbledore a little taken aback as the two seated themselves in their respective seats, Willow leaning in rather suggestively to whisper a thank you and farewell before turning her attention elsewhere.

The feast this year had really been outdone in its planning and preparation, Severus noted this as he selected a particularly rare filet for his plate, ladling steamy aromatic potatoes beside it and spearing some rather exotic looking vegetables to taste. And the wine provided was of exceptional quality, leaving a lingering flavor on his tongue as he tried an aged, blood colored Shiraz. The students buzzed below, and all around was laughter and merriment, with only a thin note of worry veiled behind McGonnagall's tight lips and Sinistra's usually low tones. Severus himself felt his eyes begin to itch with sleep as he filled his belly as much as he allowed-for he was a man who had learned a bit of self-discipline long ago. When the desserts made their entrance surrounded by a great many ooh's and ahh's, he felt the need to slip quietly away and take his leave. Inching his chair back slowly, he dabbed the corners of his mouth with a now slightly soiled napkin, keeping his eyes downcast for only a moment; when he saw the hand rather before he felt its steel like grip on his own.

Delicately tanned, small like a child's, with scars fresh and old, it held him back. He dared not chance a look to his left to see who clutched him so, but he felt the need in a small wave. No words were uttered, though a thousand emotions coursed between them. Hesitation held him in place, before common sense took the lead.

"Merry Yule." He whispered, almost a hiss in the elf-like ears of the sweetly scented woman to his left, as he slid his arm from her hand. Juniper was silent, but he could feel the disappointment in her heart as she bowed her head slightly to her plate, stung by the coldness of those normally cheerful words. He was gone with a swirl of black clothe, as always; leaving behind the pain and stunned response he was so accustomed to receiving from his students.

Back in the sanctity of the stone walls that were his office, long white fingers unfurled once more the cream colored parchment whose purple letters held the fate of many a person in his hands. It wouldn't be the first time Severus would betray the innocent, but that didn't make it any easier for him to do so. It didn't help that his abuse of a certain liquor had increased over the past few weeks, or that he was being haunted by two very painful memories at any given moment of the day.

Clearing his throat, Severus stowed the expendable list in a drawer of his desk, preparing himself to discover any familiar names on the list of true arrivals—he was not prepared for the blow he received once he did examine the list in detail. Printed in neat letters was an all too familiar person.

_Professor Maeve Freya Ulster_.

Severus felt the seconds slip away as if a thousand years had, eyes glued to the sheet he now clutched tightly. _No, it couldn't be_ ... he reasoned with himself, still, the words stayed. The orchestra rose in volumes now, practically deafening him, as he hurled the scrolls across the room, eyes wild, breathing shallow. Could he never escape the past? Must it plague him for the remainder of his miserable existence?

Crazed eyes fell upon the package, small and forlorn against the dark wood of his desk. With an earnest energy that caught even himself off guard, he drew the present to his breast, tearing away the paper of the package as fast as he could mange.

A small, triangular box rested neatly in his palm, the light wood gleaming in the candlelight; a series of carving burned deep within its surface. Severus turned it over in his palms, aware of how large his hands now seemed as they held this delicate creation. The carvings were soon revealed to be a series of panels, one on each side depicting a scene from an old story, one he knew all too well. He kept his breathing level, slowly prying open the lips of this odd little box, dreading what he now suspected was nestled inside.

Severus felt as if the final blow had been dealt. He knew that the Headmaster must have either had incredibly good intentions or horribly bad judgment or both as his dark eyes misted over with unshed tears, the knife he had felt so recently puncturing his stomach, lungs and back now wedged deep within his heart.

A set of tickets greeted his eyes; dated for December 22 at the London Opera House, for a ballet he hadn't seen in sixteen years.


	5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Frozen hands slipped on the icy railings of a ladder that was propped against the battered walls of a worn apartment building, which was really a crumbling Victorian home, whose many additions and repairs had left its appearance in a state of foreboding far more frightening than ever. Lopsided additions hung off at strange angles, and new shingle or plaster only marred the decaying paint and rotted wood frames of the doors and windows; appearing garish no matter what the light. It didn't help that the yard surrounding the home itself was as dry and scabbed over with rusted tin cans and broken furniture; crab grass could hardly get a stranglehold on the cracked earth that was seen from blocks away, and the gnarled branches of trees hung naked in the sky, their withered limbs begging for relief from their starved existence.

After the five hour long train expedition and walking endless miles in heels, the women were more than depressed at the sight of the halfway house; their red-rimmed eyes gazing morosely up at the grimy windows and darkened rooms that held occupants of more questionable liability than they themselves could ever dream. Their greasy-haired, sallow skinned companion was attempting to retain balance and still rummage through the muck-infested gutters of the house; after claiming he knew of a set of keys that were hidden there neither of them had protested his search. Both women were rather wary of knocking on the front door and asking for room and board uninvited—it simply wasn't in their nature to do so. And they had been reassured that their male counterpart had stayed here loads of times, explaining if they entered quietly, they could just discuss everything later on in the day. After they all had a shower and a nice long rest. Plus, it was really much better this way, he had told them; to just enter stealthily and not chance the risk of being turned away.

He had been rummaging for a half an hour now.

The darker of the two women fished a torn pack of cigarettes from her coat pocket, lighting the last of her precious smokes and taking a deep drag as she surveyed the skinny young man with narrowed eyes. His shoulders _had_ begun to fill out in the past few years, his arms and legs gaining strength, though how he was managing to find the time to do so was niggling in the back of her mind whenever she least expected it to be, and his hands _had_ become less clumsy. But he was still sickly in appearance, his skin still had that rather unpleasant tinge, his ribs still far too visible for her taste, the dark circles under his eyes never truly fading. And the creatures he called friends that were constantly popping up at the most inconvenient times were not in the least a comforting aspect of his life, still, he made her soulkin smile, even laugh, far more than shed tears. That had to count for something. Not to mention the fact that he was bloody brilliant and one of the best potions masters she had ever met ï¼ and he was about to break his neck, too, now that she noticed it.

"Severus, watch out!" her own voice seemed shrill in the early hours of the day, piercing the annoyance that was dawn on the horizon. The startled, frightened gasp of the woman beside her as she rushed forward, heedless of the garbage and weeds threatening to trip her now bare feet as the young man's hands slipped once more on the rungs of the ladder, his left foot popping out at a crazy angle, propelled her into motion as well.

"I knew this was a stupid idea!" the other one cursed under her breath, brows drawn into a furrowed grimace of worry, steadying one side of the ladder as the darker one sliced the back of her heel open on a rusted lid that she hadn't seen.

"Ow! Damn ï¼ Well, it's better than risking our necks knocking on the door of a strange home." she replied, to which a snort was issued.

"Oh please, Maeve, as if standing outside, ogling like a couple of tourists is much better, while the love of my life is risking his neck for keys we're not even sure exist is such a fantastic idea."

"Don't get snippy with me, June, he's your dim-watt boyfriend. Honestly, traipsing about during the early hours of dawn is not my idea of a charming end to an evening at the ballet." Juniper sighed heavily beside her friend.

"It was such a lovely ballet, too."

"It _was_."

"You can both thank me later for the tickets, as soon as we are back in my old boarding room." Snape added, stepping back onto solid ground with the faintest trace of relief in his tone. Juniper slapped his arm in annoyance.

"Don't do that again, you had me worried to death." with the look of complete interest in the keyring, Severus did not meet her piercing glare.

"I haven't the faintest clue as to what you're talking about; if worrying can lead to death, than surely the Grim Reaper has your number at the top of his list—along with the numbers of all us smokers, eh Maeve?" exhaling a particularly well-relished waft of smoke, the slightly wavy haired young woman allowed a snort of laughter to maul the otherwise perfect puff of toxins.

"He _lurvs_ us smokers." Juniper rolled her eyes in disgust, tightening her grip on the shoes she clutched in one hand.

"Can we speed this up? I'm dirty and exhausted and in dire need of a toothbrush, thank you."

"Aren't we all," Severus remarked dryly, holding in triumph a rather tarnished brass key in his spindly fingers, "A-ha! Knew the little bugger was in here. Shall we ladies?" with an exaggerated bow, he led them to the front door. Juniper wrinkled her nose slightly as she side-stepped a hole in the front porch, which looked over what appeared to be the toilet for several wild animals—at least, she hoped they were the droppings of wild animals, suppressing a shudder as Severus turned the key very, very slowly in the keyhole. A faint click could be heard, issuing a small squeal from Maeve, who tossed the butt of her cig into said stinkhole.

"Yay. Bedtime." Snape rested a slender, white finger to his lips as he opened the surprisingly silent door into a rather dingy entrance hall.

A threadbare Persian carpet led from doorway to stairwell, which ran up and about at a slightly crooked angle, carpet on the wooden stairs as dirty and dismal as the Persian counterpart. Neither matched; both were faded, hideous patterns in what were once rather garish reds, blues, golds and silvers. The walls were peeling paint—upon closer examination, Juniper found that their were originally wallpapered, but when that had begun to fade or curl, the walls had been repainted—many, many times over. Which did not hinder the peeling of the wallpaper below, but instead left heavier curls hanging about for someone to knock off, and _that_ had been done on more than once occasion, since the remnants still littered the ground. A large hole was bashed into the wall to their right, which was really more of a corner, as the entrance hall had one doorway to the left with opened into a parlor; and open space to the right which really lead around and about to the main dining room, or at least, what would have been a dining room. It seemed as if no one had eaten there in centuries, so thick was the dust on the table and chairs, save for in one or two places, where dirty dishes and newspapers were stacked, flies bussing about hungrily, thick and black bodied.

Maeve looked revolted, eyes slits as she gazed up the darkened stairwell. She could just barely see the railing that lined the landing upstairs, and while no one was visible, she was sure they were being watched. The skin on the back of her neck crawled.

"Let's get going," she hissed in Snape's ear. He nodded, leading them up the stairs, veering to the left, finding another key that opened up a door of another stairwell, and leading them upward. This continued for two more floors, until they must have been on the uppermost level, where only three doors greeted them on this landing. Severus had locked the door behind them when they had begun climbing this fourth set of stairs, and he now pocketed the keys that were so filthy yet so precious.

"Welcome home, ladies." This landing was markedly more cheerful, as on either end were large windows that overlooked the depressing lawn, but allowed in plenty of sunlight, despite the hour of the day. The floor was dusty but there were no tacky rugs, just scrubbed floorboards beneath the dust. The doorknobs were polished and the doors had been freshly painted and left untouched. Juniper turned wide eyes to the man beside her.

"I bet this part of the house was spotless and in perfect condition when you lived here, am I right?" he blushed in reply, brandishing three keys neither of them had seen him take from the key ring.

"This one," he indicated a small, silver key, "unlocks the bathroom. We shall need to make copies for all of us, but seeing as how I don't think we should ever travel without one another, it would be rather foolish, don't you think?" the girls exchanged a look, but said nothing, only nodded, "and these two open the bedrooms. We can either share one room and use the other as a study of sorts, or Juniper and I can share one room, and Maeve, you can have your own."

"I know you probably want your own, Maeve, but maybe we should all be in one room, just in case ï¼. _Something_ happens." Juniper added the last part with a slight tremor in her voice, but Maeve only smiled and took her hand.

"Nothing is going to happen to us here—no one would WANT to brave the filth we just did to kill us; they'd think we were already dead from the shock of having to live here, I bet." Juniper smiled, but Snape's face remained grim.

"Perhapsï¼." he allowed his voice to trail off, surveying the yard through one of the two clean windows absentmindedly, "We can partition the main bedroom, and keep all the doors locked then, as long as I leave the connecting doors for the bathroom and other room unlocked. That way we know we're the only ones in, since no one else can enter without our being aware, you see?" Again, nodding ensued. Without any more delays, Snape unlocked the door of the left room, and with a flourish, presented it to his ladies.

"After you."

"I beg your pardon?" the voice demanded in a rather heated tone.

"I said, _anyone but you_. Are you deaf?"

"Are you always an ass?"

"Professor Solaris!" the stern pitch of Professor McGonagall froze all who were congregated at the base of the stairwell near the Divination Tower. Robes clutched tightly in hand, she set a frightening glare upon each and every one of their faces, "Students roam these halls, I doubt you need reminding of that, however, in case you have forgotten, we as educators have a certain duty as role models for these young people. I'm not sure how things are run back in the States, but here in Europe-"

"I assure you, Professor McGonagall, it won't happen again. We were careless, I apologize." Willow's voice practically oozed as she flashed a tight smile. Professor McGonagall did not return the smile.

"Careless, indeed. You shall find that carelessness is also quite intolerable as well, especially considering the current state of affairs. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a class to teach. I suggest you all do the same." With a curt nod, she swept off, leaving a very cowed Mildred, a terse Willow and a slightly enraged Juniper behind, who turned flashing eyes upon the curly haired young woman beside her.

"Willow, this is my final warning, to both of you. Either you learn to get along better, or I will find someone to take you in _outside_ of Hogwarts, is that clear?" Willow turned derisive eyes upon her.

"Puh-lease, who else do you think could replace me, now that I am a Professor here at Hogwarts? There's not a soul for miles who would desire the accursed post of Defense Against the Dark Arts, and besides that, there's no one more qualified than I am. Unless you feel that you are," Willow laughed at her own insult, "A pathetic, groveling ass-kisser; do you honestly think you are anywhere close to being my equal? You would be nothing without me, do you hear? Nothing. I made sure you met the right people, attended the right formal functions, even helped you to escape that miserable farce you called a relationship that had dragged you down after you finished school. How dare you insinuate—"but Willow had unwittingly crossed a line, for the tips of Juniper's ears were a touch scarlet and her brows drawn together in a single line.

"Do not challenge me, Willow. You will regret it. I suggest you learn not to take for granted the gifts bestowed upon you." As Juniper spun on her heel to leave, the next few moments passed in a blur. All Mildred would be able to recall with a shaky breath to the headmaster was that Willow had suddenly shoved Professor Lunar rather violently, sending the petite young woman sprawling across the smooth stones of the floor. With lightning quick reflexes, Juniper had drawn her wand and hexed Willow, sending the other woman into a cataclysmic rage, who in turn drew her own wand and counter-cursed the other. By the time the other professors arrived, the two were battered and bleeding, both struggling to hold their wands aloft, blood dribbling from the corner of Juniper's mouth, and a large swollen bruise keeping Willow's right eye glued shut. It took the combined efforts of McGonagall, Madame Hooch, and Professor Sprout to help Juniper stand, and Hagrid himself was left to pry the cursing, screaming Willow Solaris away, her bloodthirsty shrieks echoing throughout the ears of the frightened students that had gathered in the hall during all the commotion. Professor Mildred had sprinted into McGonagall's classroom within those precious first blows-shrieking of 'the will of the Dark Lord being wrought upon Hogwarts'-and it took several long, whispered conferences to actually remove her from the corner of the classroom, where she had cowered for the duration of it. Not a single rumor uttered that day forgot the look of absolute terror emblazoned on Professor Mildred Belle's face, or the sheer destruction Professor Solaris had wrought upon the school and Professor Lunar in only a matter of seconds.

In the darkened tower that held captive one particular potions master, night fell unceremoniously, cloaking the secret sins of addiction. The damn near empty blue bottle that kept a neon green liquid within its bowels rested faithfully beside a worn and chipped shot glass, whose bottom was coated with a thick layer of sugar granules. Chin lowered to his chest, abnormally large nostrils flaring with every labored breath, he waited. Pinpricks of light began to appear in the night sky, but he remained blind, eyes downcast and heavy-lidded.

He had been summoned shortly after the fight between Juniper and Willow had subsided, and his stomach still turned at what he had seen in the infirmary. He hadn't seen wand wounds that severe in a long, long, long time. The potions Poppy had asked him to brew were particularly advanced ones, even beyond her vast realm of knowledge and skill. The images played through his mind, intensified rather than quelled by his intoxication, much to his chagrin.

Juniper had two cracked ribs, she had been damn lucky they hadn't punctured her lungs; along with severe tissue damage to her throat, as a rather nasty gash had been found too close to an artery, and there was the small matter of the fact that she had vomited for two hours straight before someone was able to deduce she had been hit with a Poisoning Charm. It was a mild poison that grew steadily in ones bloodstream if not caught in time, often mistaken for the flu or a stomach virus, but far deadlier. They had been lucky, or perhaps Willow was just bad in her spell work. The several nasty hexes Juniper had gotten in were rather frightening as well, since Willow's eye was now a sickening purple, damaged slightly from the blow she had taken when a book had hurled itself at her, along with the sprained ankle she had received from a particularly creepy Imperious Curse.

He would never forget how weak and tiny Juniper had looked as she lay prostate in the hospital wing, her robes draped over the chair he had sunk into. His usual short temper had given her several rebukes and reprimands in their usual frozen tones, but he had _wanted_ so badly to speak to her in a comforting way. The words just didn't seem to work him that afternoon.

And Willow had been more beautiful than ever, while being hideously frightening on the other hand. Her hair was wild and tangled, her eyes crazed, her body flushed; they eventually had to sedate her she was so inflamed with rage. As she snarled like a wild beast in her sleep, Severus knew he was not the only male nearby who longed to bow her into submission with a rather violent fuck. The thought disgusted him now as it had then, though his body still told him it was a rather inviting fantasy. How he loathed and desired her at once, it was almost primal-unlike the confused muddle of emotions that drowned his soul whenever Juniper was about.

And then he had stumbled his way back to his precious tower, cursing and muttering to himself all the while. Once he was secured snugly in his favourite armchair, the drinking began, and here he had remained through the night. Granted, the only way he would be found would be by owl, and if the women needed more potions to survive the night ï¼ the thought sent a shudder down his spine, and he reassured himself that they would be safe, that he had left more than enough with Madame Pomfrey. The shadow that passed his window startled Severus from his reverie, and with slitted, addled eyes, he slowly rose and peered out.

A person on broomstick had flown at a breakneck speed into Hogwarts, long cloak rippling in the breeze, a wild mane of hair glinting as dark as the night sky itself streaming behind. The figure looked eerily familiar, the color of the cloak one he knew all too well. With a look of the utmost terror, Severus drew his hand across his mouth, rubbing nervously.

: _No, not now, its too early, there are the decoys to think of __ï¼ _: the thoughts swirled in his mind as he raked back his greasy hair, scouring the sleep from his eyes, forcing himself to sober as much as possible. Wrenching open the trap door, he didn't bother to lock his absinthe away, nor take the healing drops, all he could think of was stopping the figure before they ruined everything, as he tore down the halls and stairs, reaching the Entrance Hall just as the doors slammed open with such force, he could feel the after rush from the spell.

Several sleepy students had appeared above, on the staircases that led to dormitories and were staring groggily down, others had remained awake and were clutching scrolls or books to their chests defensively. The chattering began almost immediately once everyone had a chance to just look at the woman who stood before them.

She was a raven haired creature, with violet glinting from the wild waves that framed her face. Pale skin, more of a coffee with one cream which was pale for her, was sprinkled on her nose with pale freckles, hazel eyes glinting with fury beneath dark lashes and equally dark brows, that were drawn tightly together. Her ruby red lips were almost as full as Junipers, but an odder shape—she was slightly reminiscent of a bunny about the nose and mouth. Her long-nailed fingers clutched her broom tightly in one hand, the other holding her slender wand like a sword. A crimson traveling cloak covered the dark black and violet robes that hugged a perfect hourglass figure, one whose large bosom seemed as if it were about to spill over the top of her low cut robes, which also accentuated her slim waist and ample hips. She was, in essence, a rather infuriated sex kitten; who could be as sensual as a snake one moment and just as treacherous the next. She seemed to be the latter now.

All the young men's mouths had dropped open in a rather irritating fashion and several girlfriends were elbowing them or casting daggers of death upon the newcomer. Snape, however, was pale as a ghost, as their eyes locked.

"You." The hate and scorn were evident as she spat this word, her gaze never wavering, "Take me to her. Now." With a curt nod, he led her towards the infirmary, past the whispering and gaping students, whom she paid no heed to as she walked briskly behind him. Neither spoke the duration of the walk; and when they reached the infirmary doors, Severus was suddenly reluctant to allow her entrance.

"She is much better than she looks-" he began, but she cut him off viciously.

"I said, _take me to her_." Without flourish, he led her to Juniper's bed, where immediately the dark woman became tender, sinking slowly to her friend's side, taking the small hand in her own equally small one as her broomstick clattered to the floor.

"Darling, I'm here, can you hear me?" her voice was barely audible, but the pain and fear reflected in it was a clear as day. Juniper's eyes fluttered groggily, a wan smile stretched across her lips.

"Maeve?" the voice was but a whisper, still, Maeve choked on tears of relief.

"Yes, baby, Queen Mab is here. Everything's going to be okay, do you hear me, June? I'm here, and I'm not leaving your side until you're well again." Stroking Juniper's clammy forhead, she toyed with the now quite straggly and long fringe she had begun sporting.

"She's growing out her bangs." The words were again, only a whisper, but they startled Snape none the less; he hadn't expected anything short of more orders from the petite woman that now sat loyally by his Juniper's side.

"Yes, she began to shortly after her arrival here," he replied, feeling as if this was the most inane conversation they had ever shared.

"It's been sixteen years since she last had them gone. Seems she enjoyed hiding behind her fringe until now." And with that simple statement, his heart tightened, and he felt as if tears would fall from his eyes. Backing a step or two away, he slowly turned, a lanky, lone form retreating into the darkness of the night.

Limbs were entangled; legs crossed, arms around torsos, faces nuzzled into chests and necks. Moonlight fell in wide swaths on the hardwood floor, now dust free with a woven rug thrown across in a haphazard way. The enormous sleigh bed they had managed to procure more than comfortable for three people to share (it had been practically free at a muggle second-hand store, which was where they had found the battered dresser that leaned against the wall and the rather fantastic vintage desk they had placed in the second room). Its sheets were soft and warm, yet cool on the steamier summer days that would come.

So far, the dynamic trio had managed to remain incognito, after they had found a few interesting disguises. Maeve had dyed her raven locks a rather alarming shade of red, and begun wearing colored contacts to hide her eyes truly spectacular color. Juniper had started dressing like an androgynous preteen, tucking her chestnut brown hair under a cap and wearing coveralls and ratty tees whenever they left the building. It looked as if an odd little family had moved in upstairs to the untrained eye, but one look at the mischief they performed in bed and all doubts as to their true identities would be removed.

Even tonight, as the sweat dried on naked flesh and goose pimples arose in protest, the tenderness and love these three shared was evident. The long fingers of Severus traced an erect dark nipple lovingly, eyes unfocused as they gazed out the window at the swaying trees, whose icy branches were like glittering jewels. Juniper moaned slightly in her drowsiness, turning a glowing face framed by long hair from the nest it had made in Maeve's to study his sculpted cheekbones and firm jaw in the light.

"Severus ï¼ "her voice trailed off seductively, causing him to shift his attention.

"Yes?" the voice was like warm brandy, sliding over her features and throat, down her stomach, igniting a warmth between her legs.

"I—I should tell yo- "she started, but the sudden shift of his hand from her breast illicited a gasp of excitement, "Ohh, Severus ï¼." She bit her lip in desire, breathing shallowly.

"Yes?" he inquired, flicking his thumb expertly.

"We should wake Maeve," she moaned, her knees rubbing together in a desperate effort to hold herself off a bit longer.

"I'm already awake," Maeve's voice floated from the other side, groggy, but audible as the heat of that particular home inflamed for the second time that night.


	6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

The acrid smell of burning flesh was rancid within his nostrils, the screams like a gunshot to his mind as they echoed shrilly from the edge of the cliff. A heated ring of silver encircled his finger, throbbing through his right arm. It would take only a word, a low command, and this would be over, but he could not falter. Not now.

Such pride remains unbroken 

She was free, her spirit flying far above this spectacle, cloak of emerald flapping against her arms and legs like wings.

No reason to be found why reason did fail 

Eyes turned to the skies, dutifully looking away, as the screams dropped into memory and faded from reality. The tears he could have once shed frozen behind weary lids. He would not let them fall. Not now, not ever. Twisted on the frozen earth at his feet, a dark haired creature writhed in agony, hands clamped over ears to block out the horror of what had just occurred.

Shall I stand as a total stranger 

She could feel the cloak melting from her shoulders, like water from a spring; she did not feel the biting chill of the wind against her worn flesh. The scars and bleeding bruises fading into a dull ache, hardly more than a sensation. The chapped soles of her feet felt as they had been bathed clean and salved, her throat no longer torn or raw, but soft as honey.

Cold reminder on this day 

"Father... please ..." the voice choked over and over again, pleas falling on deaf ears as it all slowly drew to an end. The solemn faces downcast now, as footsteps shuffled away, cloaks drawn tightly around bodies. With a look of utter contempt, he turned from the dark mass before him. He did not realize, it did not register, until many hours later, that no tears had fallen from those dark eyes that had glared with full hatred on him; no sobs shook the boy's thin frame. Quite the contrary, only anger; sweet, everlasting anger had been unleashed.

And it chilled him ever so slightly, in his already cold heart, in his already frozen bones, that someday, that anger may yet be used against him.

A glimmer; a faint one, blurred her vision; before slowly coming into focus. It was the crystal glare from a polished chandelier, one that she had seen at least once a year. Usually around the Christmas Holidays, usually with two people at her side, usually to see something new and inventive, besides _the Nutcracker_, and it had been under those same glimmering lights that ï¼

:_ No. You must not think about that. It's in the past, it's gone now, it's too late to change. _ :

Shifting slightly under the tightly tucked sheets of the lumpy cot in what she was sure was a hospital wing-and wincing only a bit at the stabbing pain in her side-a rather disheveled chestnut colored head turned. Green eyes opened, no larger than slivers, and surveyed her situation, as memories indeed came rushing back in droves. Attempting to swallow the thick saliva that coated her mouth, she felt another searing stab of pain, this time in her throat. It felt as raw as if she had been screaming or vomiting for days, and there seemed to be something heavy atop it. Very slowly (more out of fear of what she might damage or disrupt) she brought her hand to the object, and delicately prodded it with her fingers. It was thick, like a bandage, and there seemed to be loads of it, too!

"That was a nasty gash she gave you, Juniper. You're damn lucky she missed the artery she was aiming for." Her hand dropped as if she had touched a flame, eyes swivelling to her left, then right, resting on a familiar dark head and brown skin.

"Maeveï¼ "her voice croaked, and she felt her brows draw together in confusion. Why did she sound like a frog?

"Wh-what happen-en-ed?" A heavy sigh met these words.

"Oh, hunny, you were beat to hell and back." Juniper tried to laugh, but something more resembling of a bark came out instead.

"How's the opponent?"

"Heavily sedated and isolated, thank god." Running a tongue over dry, cracked lips, she dreaded to ask the next question.

"How long have I been here?" the silence stretched, and that was when she knew she wouldn't like the answer.

"Almost a fortnight." Cringing, Juniper attempted to stand, but the stabbing pain in her ribs sent an explosion of stars behind her eyes.

"Damn it, damn it, damn it!" she was slowly regaining her forgotten voice; she could feel it moistening the shredded remains of her trachea.

"Lay back down before you hurt yourself even more!" snapped Maeve, her eyes glinting dangerously. Juniper met her gaze with one as equally unnerving, before obeying.

"When can I leave?" she could already feel the itch in her limbs to get moving, to get up, to do something, _anything_ other than lay here like a useless rag doll.

"When Madame Pomfrey and Severus Snot deem you worthy to roam the halls at random once more and speaking of which, what the hell were you doing wandering within hexing distance of that lunatic?" Juniper allowed a wan smile.

"Oh, you know me, I just love a good lunatic now and then." Maeve snorted.

"Bloody likely. I bet she lured you out, didn't she? Probably had it planned for weeks-what she would say and do just to goad you into a duel; mind you, that's not a hard task. I know your temper better than any other broad within a hundred kilometer radius, but that doesn't change the fact that it probably took her weeks to decide when, where and how. You may have a temper, but you also have honor and ideals, and–"

"Thanks." Juniper replied sardonically, and Maeve remained silent a moment longer, gazing with the utmost love and concern at the struggling woman before her. She knew Juniper, just as she had said, and she knew that no one could keep her confined to a bed when she felt her duty was at hand. Juniper herself was feeling rather irritated at the fact that it had taken her more than five minutes to sit up, and it didn't help that the searing pain within her ribs was _not_ going away. A low growl issued from her small physic as she finally attained comfort.

"'bout damn time! I thought I would have to employ you as my personal nurse in order to even sit." Maeve snorted.

"Like bloody hell-you couldn't afford me even if you wanted to!" Juniper sent her a scandalously seductive smile.

"That's not what I know from experience." The maddened blush she received in reply was enough. Folding her hands complacently, she took the attitude of one whom had only missed an hour or two. "So, what are my classes looking like for today, Professor Ulster?" It was then that the smile vanished and the blush was replaced by a pale pallor.

"Loads of bed rest and plenty of fluids, with no strenuous activity, including education." Juniper shook her head.

"No."

"What do you mean, _no_? I have no control over the matter, that's what Madame Pomfrey ordered, and that's how it'll be, do you hear me? BED-REST. And I personally, agree-don't look at me like that, she has a point. You have two cracked ribs, a rather ugly gouge in your neck and are recovering from a poisoning hex–that's right, you heard me, a poisoning hex. And I, for one, won't have you galavanting about, furthering infections and other nasties in your wounds, do you hear me? You are far too important for such nonsense. So that's that. Might as well hunker down, sit tight, and enjoy it, because you are going to be here for a while, young lady." Juniper glowered like a young child not getting their way, causing Maeve to have to fight back her laughter. "You're impossible, Juniper. Impossible." Still, she glowered on.

"Glower all you want, missy. I am going to stay here, though, until you are well again. So get used to card games, reading, and moments of creativity, just for your soul."

"Alright, care to play a game of hearts?"

"I hate that game."

It was gone. The precious bottle of absinthe he had saved and hidden away for so long was gone.

Chairs had been overturned, desks torn apart, tables toppled, and bookshelves emptied. He was instead faced with the mess that littered the stone floor and still, no bottle. No shot glass. No sugar cubes.

No clues as to whom it had been; though a few suspects had immediately leapt to mind, all as easily dismissible as the last; for no one-save two others, knew of this hidden sanctum. It wasn't as if they had taken anything else, just his precious addiction.

It wasn't as if he hadn't been aware of the fact that he was growing addicted once more to the green liquid. He was scared, some part of him was, but he couldn't be without it. Not now, not after he was becoming accustomed to having it so often, so readily at hand.

And now he was left alone, with the disaster at hand. As he slowly began to shelve the books and papers, his hand stayed once or twice at several familiar ones, before freezing over a _particularly_ worn leather cover of one _particular _journal. Turning the pages, he began to read, and what he read scared him far more than his own addiction ever had.

She trembled, ever so slightly, eyes wide and unblinking. It was as if she were willing herself to stay strong; no, he _knew_ she was. The light was dim, even though the moon was full. Her naked limbs tightly crossed, holding herself together. He could almost see the swell of her belly, how he had been so blind until now he didn't know. She had never looked more lovely, her hair unkempt and wild about her face and shoulders, breasts and hips full, their child growing within the cradle of her arms that held on protectively. Only a step, he took only one and saw the relief flash for an instant in her eyes.

"So–so it's true? It's ours, our own child?" she nodded, the smile playing at her lips faintly.

"It's true."

"How long have you known for?" he couldn't hide the break in his voice.

"For three, almost four months," a single tear slid down her cheek, "I was afraid you wouldn't want a–it, now, when things are so ..." it was then that she broke their gaze, her eyelids pressing closed for a moment, "But I want it, so much. I didn't know I would; I didn't plan it-I was _so_ careful, **_we_** were all _so_ careful-and now, here it is. And suddenly, I **want** it. I want this child to live, to be loved, to have a home, a family, a life with ... us." When his arms encircled her, the gasp she issued was so many emotions in one. Together, they stood still, his arms wrapped tightly about her womanly frame. When they pulled apart, it was with great earnest he spoke.

"I want this. I want this child, too." With a choked sob, she smiled, truly, deeply, and kissed him. The passion was unbridled, the relief evident in every second she held on. He had never felt this sort of lift in his chest before, never felt his heart beat like this before, never felt so scared and excited and in love with anything than he was with this unborn child. Placing a cold hand on her always warm belly, he felt nothing, but knew that life was buried deep within her flesh.

"There will be movement soon, I promise, it comes and goes for now." he nodded, but could not tear his eyes from the smooth curve of her stomach. And in the moonlight, with his greasy hair pulled back into a tight bun at the nape of his neck, his cigarette colored smile and carved facial features, he was beautiful to others besides his love. A warm glow seemed to emanate from their hearts into their faces and through the window, rivaling even the bright of the sun.

Sliding the volume back onto its rightful home, he tried to forget what he had been reminded of. Tried to dismiss from his mind the pain and regret that so many memories were laden with. He knew that he should have done or said something when the opportunity was ripe, but unfortunately, his _high ideals_ had permitted him from speaking. And now ...

He didn't even sigh as he found his fingertips grazing sketchbooks. He remembered the day when he would have gladly opened and perused the pages at length, reveling in the talent or even the budding of said talent, as it whipped by, page by page. But now, well, now, he would rather forget that such talent had ever existed. Forget the face and name attached with those books, forget the short stories and poems written by another hand, one whose raven haired owner had been just as much a part of the pain and anguish from so many years ago as the sketchbooks of the light haired one had been. He yearned for his absinthe so badly he could almost taste the bitter liquid, could almost feel the gritty sugar coating his tongue. And with a growl like that of a bear, he hurled the books across the room, and felt a surge of ... _something_ as they thwapped the wall and crumpled to the floor. Again, he threw a handful of books, and felt the same swell, then again, and another and another, until he was panting, arms limp at his side.

There was a stitch in his chest, he was sure it was from the tossing of so many heavy things, but knew deep down inside he was just exhausted, as so many addicts are when they come down. And he was, indeed, coming down. With a resigned sort of disposition, he began to scoop the damaged thoughts and memories into his arms, only hesitating a moment when he came across one that had landed face up. It was a sketch, one he had never seen, or if he had, he didn't remember it.

The limp and unwashed hair fell into dark eyes, but the eyes were laughing, and the arms, skinny as they were, wrapped around the soft and full body of a woman in her prime. Dark curls styled in a messy coif, wisps of it framing her face and trailing over large breasts, as a laugh escaped her mouth as well. Both were nude; on the tousled sleigh bed he had made love upon so many times in his youth; to both the women seen and unseen in this sketch. Their legs were entwined, his sparsely haired chest being toyed with by demure and seductive hands, an already spent penis still thick and masculine residing faithfully. Their sweat was still in his nostrils, though the picture older than half the students that walked these halls, and the lovemaking of that evening as intense as any he could recall.

With a choked sob he hadn't meant to allow to slip, he slammed the book shut. When had she drawn such an intimate moment? When had she found the time to capture their expressions so perfectly? How long had she tried to–but he stopped those thoughts, and scooped it into his arms with the others, anger replacing what should have been a form of love. _How dare she_. Who did she think she was? To sketch for all the world to see-their private life and family, to sketch their love, as strange as it may have been to others, but pure as it was to themselves-for anyone to find?

Granted, unless someone knew of his home, they would have never found it, but still, **what** was she thinking? He was half tempted to burn it, and almost did, but save for the sketches of the next few pages, which he found when, on a hesitation, he opened the sketchbook yet again. Or was it more of a morbid curiosity.

A child, no, several children studies, the first he had ever seen in any of her sketches. She had obviously been pregnant at the time, the dates said as much, and they ended shortly before–well, it was enough, to say the least, to stave his first impulse and pause him yet again. There were boys, mostly, and girls too. The latter being the most tender and soft, as if she had hoped against all hope that the life in her belly _was_ a girl. They filled the remaining pages, he discovered, and some were animated, some not so much; but all were poignant reminders of why he had clung to these books to begin with.

The tears fell openly from his cheeks now, and try as he might to stave them, they speckled and dotted the pages. Turning away, he lay his heated cheek upon the cool floor and wept like a broken man. How dare she, his mind repeated over and over again, how dare she ...

The next few days passed by in a blur, and soon it was the winter holidays. As the semesters drew to an end, midterms were given, with several anxious students leaving the school for holiday, fear in their bellies, and homework on their minds. Professor Willow Solaris returned to class, albeit with misgivings, although her attack on the Professor Lunar had earned her a mixture of fear and respect from the students. Rarely had anyone seen an attack on another wizard to that degree before, save Harry Potter, and while the rumors of Lord Voldemort having returned were still fresh, the reality of an actual duel, Death Eater related or not, was more tangible than the vague threat of an old villain.

It was also common knowledge at this point in time that Professor Lunar had received a rather seductive visitor whom still remained loyally in the hospital wing at Juniper's side. Not only that, but Juniper was taking much longer to recover, setting her in the back of most student's minds as she was so briefly a part of their class lives. Granted, during the particularly grueling Potions lessons that continued in her absence, several were heard to be grumbling that they wouldn't be half as miserable if she were there. And her students still worried with a great deal of regret and fret, visiting her frequently and driving Madame Pomfrey mad in the process. Still, she felt deep down in her heart that really the only people who truly noticed her absence were few and far between.

Maeve always commented that Juniper had a self worth complex, but those words usually fell on deaf ears as her dearest friend would change the subject or snap irritably for Queen Mab to not be Queen Moron. It depended on the mood of the day. Another thing of note was the healthy banter and bickering that ensued between the two women, never with malice or ill intent, always with the utmost love and respect, but more out of habit than anything else.

More and more students could be heard whispering as they left the Great Hall with heavy suitcases, tightly muffled faces, noses and mittens, that something was afoot in the Forbidden Forest besides the usual oddities. Several older students claimed to have heard human voices chanting near the edge of the trees, others insisted they had seen smoke on certain days curling from the treetops. All the professors dismissed these stories as the sheer will of imagination, and Fred and George Weasely had taken it upon themselves to tell terrified First Years that it was the new headquarters of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his followers-giving almost all of the younger children horrible nightmares, until Professor McGonagall banned their scandalous stories and gave them detention. The two left scowling their last day, quite irked at their mischief being halted, if only temporarily.

By the time the Christmas Holidays were reaching their peak, only a handful of people could be found within the castle walls of Hogwarts, save the faculty. Juniper had begun to stump about with a cane and had been preparing her lessons with her dark haired counterpart, wincing with pain whenever she felt no one was looking. Her reapperance at the staff table had sent a few warm welcome back's in her direction, and while she had hoped it would rattle Severus most of all, she found he avoided her gaze whenever humanly possible.

"Oh come off, darling, he's a total ass anymore as it stands now," Maeve reprimanded one day, forking her mashed potatoes visciously. Juniper moodily spooned her carrots and sweet potato in her mouth, eyes downcast in misery.

"I know, and I have a much better life and love and everything now, but still ... I just wish he would acknowledge us, our past-"here she sighed heavily, "-me. But he pretends as if none of it ever happened, and how can he do that?" Maeve shook her head dismissively.

"Because he's afraid to admit that he hurt then, just like we did. Because he is afraid to be human and show emotion. Remember what he said, what was it, thirteen, fourteen years ago? People who show emotion are weak. He doesn't want to be weak."

"I know." Juniper was still rather blue even as she mumbled these words. She _did _ know, but it still didn't ease the dull ache of pain; pain she had thought had died so many years ago, but unfortunately, sometimes time does not give closure, as she was learning. He hadn't really changed that much, and yet, had changed so drastically, it was as if it was another person. Somedays she wanted to pretend that it _was_ a different person and that she would find the real Severus lurking about the next corner, waiting to yell out 'Surprise!' and to--to--well, her mind never was really able to digest the lie, and she would snap back to reality aggressively.

Scraping back her chair, she clutched at the cane that was now becoming comfortable in her hand and took a swig from her goblet, "You know, I don't think I'm that hungry tonight. I think I'll go double check from ingredients for this potion I have planned a final exam question that I wrote yesterday." Quirking a brow, Maeve's dark eyes fixed Juniper with a quizzical stare.

"Did you create a potion all your own?" Blushing slightly, Juniper shifted from one foot to the other.

"Well, no, but it **is** a really difficult one. I mean, almost NEWT level."

"But what about the OWLs; shouldn't we be preparing potions for the fifth years to practice on as well?" Darkening, Professor Lunar lifted the hem of her robe in an agitated sort of way.

"I'm working on it." Disappearing as swiftly as she could, a wave of relief washing through her as she passed the Great Hall's doors, and the cold air chilling her broken ribs, Juniper began to slowly climb the stairs to reach the Library.

It seemed as if a familiar tune had been running through her mind quite often lately, one she remembered a certain gentleman playing at a few choice cafes when they had been young, carefree and idealistic. His lingering notes and rich voice soothing and moving her heart in ways she hadn't felt before those times, and leaving a hand print on her soul.

_I'm calling you_

_Oh, ooh, ooh_

_Desert road from Vegas to nowhere_

_someplace better than where you've been_

The swaying of bodies, both muggle and wizard swaying as one in the warm glow of the secret coffee shop, their differences forgotten as they shared in this muggle tune that had enchanted a wizard's hands and mind from the first moment she had shared them with him. It was so strange to see someone moved so deeply by words they clearly shouldn't have understood and somehow, they did.

_A coffee machine that needs some fixin'_

_And a little café just 'round the bend_

_A hot dry wind blows right through me_

_the baby's cryin' and I can't sleep_

The promise that he would do it justice as well as the American muggle who had orginally played it had. Many of the patrons had smiled, some bemused other confused, but all enchanted by the soulful crooning and sweet ballad that in moments had filled the small building.

_We all know she just calls me in_

_coming closer to sweet release_

_Sweet release_

_I'm ca-ll-ing yo-u_

As the song continued and then drew to a close, the smattering of applause became a thunderous recognition, starting a small fanbase for the trio, which had only helped them to infiltrate the mixed world of muggles and wizards. They had slipped so easily between the barriers that it was hard to believe one of them was a Deatheater and pure-blood wizard with a venemous fury.

And now, so many years later, she was still haunted by many a night that had been spent in that tiny home they had spent many hours a day in, playing tunes, writing poetry, sketching passerby. All for fun and still finding it as a way of income. She remembered being happiest in those days, the beauty of the world, the innocence of naivete and idealism running through her veins.

Hard to believe that times had grown so grim and dark, though few admitted they were. She had read of the attacks that Voldemort had launched recently. Nothing large, but still horrifying. Muggles having strange encounters and accidents, being found mauled by 'wild animals' with deaths and wounds that left Juniper convinced they were the handiwork of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. The wizarding schools that were suspected of being the target for an attack having been destroyed and several innocent witch and wizard lives claimed did not lesson any fears. Needless to say, the Daily Prophet still vehemently denied the return of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and instead printed small, hardly noticeable articles on the deaths and disappearances, though they were becoming so many and so frequent, it was becoming harder and harder to write them off. Which was more than likely He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's intention.

She wasn't surprised that he hadn't attacked Hogwarts yet, he feared only one wizard in all the world and that was Dumbledore, who was taking this all rather badly. Students were more than likely to transfer or not return after the winter holidays-not all, but some were expected to-out of fear on their family's behalf. The Daily Prophet wasn't the only paper to be sounding off against Dumbledore; many wizarding families were unable to admit the return of so fearsome a foe from long ago. While their children had no idea of the horror from the First War, their parents remembered it in extraordinary detail. Turning up another twisting set of stairs, Juniper finally had reached the library. Still lost in her thoughts, she meandered about, pretending to look for a book for her lessons in the coming semester, while really attempting to piece together the information that she had been ferreting out the past few weeks. In those next few moments, she was attacked by a rather rambunctious owl who nipped at her fingers until she had retrieved her post from its leg, and then it was off. Unfurling the parchment, brows knitted together in confusion, with Madame Pince shrieking in her ear as she did so, Professor Lunar's green eyes suddenly lit up, and with a little yelp, she dashed away as fast as her cane would allow.

"Ow! That was my toe!"

"And that was my cane, sorry."

"You're sure you read the letter right? They want to see _both_ of us, tonight?"

"Yep, at the same time, too." Juniper repeated for what felt like the hundredth time, as she and Maeve found themselves following the path she had just crossed no more than a few weeks ago, before the attack ... it felt like a lifetime ago.

"Well, it seems a little strange, just don't say I didn't warn you."

"I won't," Almost tripping over a root, she swore under her breath and gripped her cane tighter, "Evil forest."

"I've missed them-I didn't expect to miss them _this_ much."

"I know!" Their voices faded to a hush as they came upon the dark shack in the middle of the Forbidden Forest that Juniper had encountered herself before.

"Got the password ready?"

"Yep," with a new rhythm, she tapped the knock, and then whispered, "Buckbeak's Brigade, reporting for duty, sah!" Maeve giggled uncontrollably, and a pair of rough, yet handsome hands shot from the doorway.

"Oh shut up, you loon. And would you get in here before you alert the whole forest that two St. Mungo's patients have escaped their ward?" They both were fighting down fits of laughter as Maeve was snatched inside, Juniper checking over her shoulder quickly before following suit. With a creak, the door closed, and a breeze rustled the frozen branches of the trees, sending a shiver down the frosty plants and flowers.

lyrics © _Calling You_ by Jeff Buckley


	7. Chapter Seven EDITED R Version

Chapter Seven

_There's a road from Vegas to nowhere ..._

The winter snow had finally begun to melt away outside their cozy room in the boarding house that had been their savior only a few months ago. Never before had anyone been as relieved as the three trapped inside to see Spring. The dreary and drab aspects of the Winter Season had taken its toll, and none of the three were too merry when night gave way to dawn. Granted, there was a certain note of excitement in the air, but the novelty of a pregnant lover had worn off. Juniper was feeling rather overemotional as her hormones went into full overdrive, as she had reached her fifth month, and was expecting the third trimester to be no better. She constantly felt as if she were as big as a house, and while she was, far be it for the two people she loved most to tell her. As a result, her sex drive had been as up and down as a windy road on a mountain, and that left only the two remaining to enjoy themselves.

While Maeve wouldn't have minded being impregnated herself, she decided that waiting until after one child had been birthed would be a good enough rest period for all involved, and their male partner was overjoyed at the fact that he wouldn't have to deal with two moms to be at once. If it hadn't been for the money that had all been scrimping and saving over the past few months, working muggle jobs (they often shuddered to think of how humdrum their appearances of their life had to be, and were always ecstatic to be home) and the like, so thankfully, they were able to meet the cravings of a hungry foodbag such as Juniper. As Spring came to bud, however, there were others things coming as well.

Maeve gasped and groaned as Severus; their bodies drenched in sweat, they rolled onto the tangled sheets, as a very sleepy Juniper tossed a pillow in their general direction.

"No fair, I want sex, too," she mumbled, still not entirely awake.

"You're pregnant," Maeve argued, her afterglow still flaming her chest and throat, which Severus was dotting with kisses.

"I'm not showing ... yet."

"That's true, you aren't really showing yet," Severus added, giving her once toned body an appraising glance, "I think I like you softer like this."

"Good, then let's make things interesting when you get your fluids back." With a nod of agreement, he stood and strode to the bathroom, prepared to shower and fall into a deep sleep of his own.

"Honestly, he's got to be the luckiest man alive-finding two women as sexual as we are." Maeve's voice floated to his ears as the water began to steam the mirror. Smiling ruefully, he climbed into their narrow shower and began scrubbing vigorously, a childhood habit he had never entirely dropped.

"I am the luckiest man alive," he shouted at them, to which giggles were his reply.

"We know." they chorused in unison.

A tickling of her slope nose gradually caused green eyes to open; slowly but surely, the thick dark lashes parted and greeted the morning. Sitting up delicately, Juniper gazed about her. She was still at the cabin, and her stomach didn't feel so well, and that was when last night came flooding back, despite the dream that had been so interesting a moment before. She hated to dream of the past, of memories. It always made waking up that much harder.

To her right was a body; to the left were the remnants of their third wine bottle, almost half full. She could feel the stiffness in her side as her ribs screamed in agony. Rolling over gently, she kissed the scarred shoulder that peeked from the covers, sunlight dappling it in tiny patterns. She remember bits and pieces of last night, as she curled back around that warm body beside her, and couldn't help thinking that while it may not have been as crazy as her early life had been with lovers, it had indeed been a wonderful one. Their bodies molded together perfectly, something the tall, dark lover of her past had obviously been unable to accomplish with either her or Maeve, since they were both abysmally short (and damn proud of it, too). Slapping away the dust mite that had woken her, Juniper tried to stop herself from sneezing.

It didn't work.

"Hmm, morning lovely ..." a low voice rumbled, rubbing her back lovingly.

"Morning," she yawned, pulling her cloak on from the floor and searching for her cane through the litter of clothing and bodies on the floor.

"Where are you going?"

"Maeve and I have to get back to the school before someone notices that we skipped out for a night or two—was it two nights?" she muttered, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

"I think it was a whole weekend," Maeve's voice was thick and weary as she rose from the tangle of limbs that were strewn and entwined across the cabin. Shafts of mid-morning sun illuminated her round hips and full breasts from behind like a Titian painting, her dark curls mussed about face and shoulders, lips swollen from nibbles and kisses. Juniper breathed a languid sigh as she gazed upon her friend and love. Their beauty had only increased with age, leaving them ripe in their early prime; something she was reminded of often when she took in the sculpted features of the woman before her.

"Damn--well, no time like the present. Let's get moving," Maeve heaved a sigh of regret, bending over to kiss those on the floor farewell, "We'll be back soon; at least, as soon as we are able to. We'll probably be under close watch for the next few days." There were no arguments, only a murmur of disappointment as the two swept from the cabin's ramshackle doorway into the somewhat foreboding Forest.

The clearing was bright, which lasted for a good part of the hike back to Hogwarts, until the trees became thick, bringing darkness was upon them. They were silent, soaking in the weekend events as if it was their lifeblood, reflecting and contemplating the things that had been learned through the hours of intense physical exertion and deep discussion.

"So, what are we going to do about Severus?" Juniper let the question hang in the air, pregnant with potential.

"I don't know-he's a difficult part of the equation, but I'm sure we can think of something-as long as he doesn't become too involved with Willow, we'll be fine," she replied, shielding her eyes against the sunlight as they exited the forest, the glare reflecting off the castle façade nearly blinding.

"She has his interest, that's for sure, though," Maeve added, steadying Juniper against her, "Easy, honey, easy. Watch your footing there."

"Thanks," sucking a sharp breath over her teeth, Juniper winced, "Stupid Willow-what the hell was I thinking, confronting that crazy bitch?" Meave shook her head.

"I've been wondering that myself; I mean, she's never been the most stable of people, has she? Remember what happened on the set of that film-when she was just beginning her career?"

"An extra should never be that vocal or that obnoxious, but her temper; she just lost control, and I'll never forget the mess I had to clean up. All those innocent people-I've never seen so many Memory Modifications performed at once! And the lies that were shoveled down their throats—I mean, _honestly_, a special effects malfunction? Who were they kidding," Juniper strained to see in the entrance hall, her eyes adjusting to the change of light, "She always did have so much raw Dark power. I've never heard or seen anything like it before."

"Nope, me neither. Now, what is it they were saying about the Floo Network? I mean, I know we've used it for communication, but is it _really_ safe to use instead of walking? I mean, what if we're caught-" Maeve cut short as footsteps were heard nearby. Without hesitation, the two hobbled as fast as they could to Juniper's quarters, praying that no one had overheard them.

"Headmaster, I think I have been patient enough with the current situation-but I can't stand it a moment longer! She's always watching me," Willow's voice rang throughout Dumbledore's office, as he sat calmly behind his desk, "Waiting for me make a mistake. It's undermining my authority, filling _my _student's minds with all sorts of nonsense. You have to do something; reassign her or send her away; I don't care what. Just get her out!"

"I'm afraid that is entirely out of the question, Professor Solaris. Maeve Ulster is one of the most accomplished Defense Against the Dark Arts professors in the US, and we feel privileged to have her here at Hogwarts, not to mention so far from home-like yourself. Especially considering the current state of affairs of Europe with Voldemort on the rise," Willow flinched at the Dark Lord's name, "Not to mention the fact that I simply feel as if it is in the best interest of the students to receive a well-rounded education and what better way to have them be prepared for the conflicts of war than to have them learn from two different perspectives of two very gifted professors?" Preening slightly, Willow allowed a brief smile to flutter across her tight features.

"I suppose I see what you are saying, but still, there is the matter of her usurping my authority in front of the students-"

"A problem I will address personally immediately," Dumbledore interjected, rising from his seat to usher her out the door, "Good day, Professor Solaris. I look forward to seeing you at dinner tonight." With an awkward nod of her curled head, a slightly puzzled and still disgruntled Willow left, leaving an irked Headmaster standing among the portraits and magical objects that filled his office. Pinching the bridge of his crooked nose, Dumbledore closed his eyes, deep in thought, as a shadowy figure stepped forth.

"Keep a close eye on both of them, please, and inform me immediately if anything goes awry," he instructed, allowing the tension of Willow to seep from his mind.

"What of the others-there was a noticeable absence over the weekend. Very similar to one that occurred during the Winter Holidays," the visitor commented dryly.

"Yes, but at least they waited until school was underway again before they took off into the night this time around; I wouldn't trouble yourself too much over it, but have someone keep a close watch on any other weekend excursions just to be safe." The guest nodded before disappearing once more, as Dumbledore returned to his desk, taking a quill into hand. There was a lot of work to be done before things became too hectic in the halls of Hogwarts.

Spider-like white fingers massaged the bridge of a flattened nose, red-rimmed eyes pressed together as the reports of the month spilled from the pathetic form crouched in the shadows on the floor.

"There were visitors, during the weekend, much like in the Winter Seasons of last month-"

"Was this before _or_ after the full moon?" an icy tone inquired.

"Before, my lord. And-"here the voice sputtered.

"Speak you cowardly fool!" the command rang throughout the room.

"It seems as if they are planning, my lord, plotting and planning an attack. But on whom, we don't know. Their allegiance seems to neither lie with Dumbledore or the Potter boy, but they have been in contact with Snape frequently-"

"How frequently?" the question hung as a single band of silver burned against cold, white flesh. Slowly, it was twisted back and forth in an absentminded way. The quivering creature watched with watery eyes, as if those hands would strike him at any moment.

"Everyday-yet, Snape has no reports of their true whereabouts on these weekend excursions. It is only known that they disappear into the Forbidden Forest and emerge unscathed days later," he finished as quickly as he could, praying to be dismissed.

"Keep a close eye on both of them, and inform me immediately if anything should go awry-we don't want Dumbledore getting to them first," the voice sent a shiver down the spine of the rat-like man cowering on the floor. With a swift nod, he bowed his head even lower, nose touching the floor, "You are dismissed, worm." He needed no other prompting.

Turning to the window, he gazed listlessly over the melting ice and snow before him. Soon, another freeze would grip the land, and the slush would turn deadly to any who dared to brave the outdoors. A second winter seemed to be coming.

The wicked smile that curled his lips would have frightened any who chanced upon his face, but the silver band upon his finger that he twisted round and round and round was far more intriguing.

"A state of emergency! Surely, this is some sort of joke," Maeve watched in amusement as Juniper swirled about the room in a myriad of green and pink, throttling the paper she held in her hands.

"Nope, says right here why ..." Maeve trailed her fingers down the column of print, as the hiss of the fire told her Juniper's copy had fallen to the flames in a crumpled ball of disgust. Puffing her chestnut locks from her face, she stalked the length of their small quarters, rearranging and stacking stray items and scrolls.

"A curfew on all wizards and witches-who do they think they are? The Gestapo? And a ban on traveling through the Floo Networks—why not cut off my legs while we're at it, Fudge!" she raged at the ceiling. Maeve tried to stifle the yawn her body commanded; she knew it would only fuel her lover's fury.

"It's not as if they're doing it to be cruel, June-it's for the safety of the wizarding world-they've no idea who's defected to Voldemort and who hasn't," Juniper's eyes flashed with warning and menace, "Don't give me that look, it's logic, and I know you hate it when logic wins, but we can still apparate and use portkeys, so pipe down." Something indistinguishable was muttered, but Maeve let it go.

"I still think it's ludicrous—and just when we had set up an illegal Floo Point in the Forest, too-maybe that's why!" Suddenly, the crazed look overtook the short brunette; sending off warning bells in the darker one's mind-she knew that look all too well, "Maybe they're on to us, watching us, planning, calculating **something**-but _what_?"

"Juniper Lunar, listen to yourself! _Watching us_? **Who**, in their right mind, could be watching us besides Dumbledore-and he wouldn't alert the ministry; he despises Fudge almost as much as the common wizards do. Stop acting like a loon and get your shit together, we have classes to teach for Merlin's sake!" Stooping to gather her things, which were now neatly stacked beside her, Maeve tried to ignore the sounds of a pillow being attacked.

"How do we know Dumbledore hasn't gone into league with Fudg-oh, for crying out loud, you're right. I do sound like a lunatic-where's my cloak?" Foraging with a ferocity normally reserved for lions killing a stray zebra, Juniper searched her closet, "Still, it is a little funny, don't you think?" her muffled voice managed to reach Maeve, who nodded.

"It is, but there's nothing we can do about it now. God, I wish they would put a ban on that Willow creature-she's trying to get me sacked. I can feel it."

"Well, she already cracked my ribs. You were bound to be next," Juniper countered, finding her cloak behind a chair and pouncing upon it, "I knew it wasn't in the closet." Fastening it at her throat, Juniper felt her fingers stray to check on the chain that she always wore about her neck, well hidden under clothes from prying eyes. The treasure was safe and still there, sending an unnatural sense of peace over the petite woman.

The two swept into the halls of Hogwarts, a mutually understood silence descending upon their normally chattering voices. One had to be careful these days with what they spoke of outside of the sanctity of their own rooms, though even those were questionable in their security. The students had begun to show signs of dissent among one another, as rumors of Voldemort's power growing and expanding had become more and more frequent. Open duels were being fought between classes, and many professors had begun to prowl the corridors with wands held ready.

Although, it wasn't as if the Teacher's Lounge hadn't felt the repercussions of recent events, either; several tense moments had occurred when a few loyalties were questioned, and the newcomers had definitely felt ill at ease since the attack from Willow on Juniper. It had reflected badly on all of them, and they knew it.

As the two small women wove through the throng of students that had spilled from their classrooms only seconds after they had begun their trek to their classes, snippets of conversations met their attuned ears.

"...I've seen the way she and Snape look at one another, and Ernie MacMillan was saying Blaise Zabini had caught them in the dungeon after class one day!"

"NO!"

"Yes. And they weren't discussing potions,either..."

"They weren't shagging, were they?"

"Might as well have been. Was a pretty tight embrace, if my sources are correct."

"Ew! Who would want to shag Snape? He's such a greasy git!"

Maeve hazel eyes slid over to glance at Juniper, whose lips were tightened in irritation. It was obvious they weren't speaking of her and Snape, so the only other option was Willow--Maeve had watched the other woman's attempts at seduction on the potions master. While she wasn't as feminine as the two of them, she definitely had her own way of charming men. It was a subtle tactic, involving a sense of camaraderie, the ability to make them feel as if she were one of 'the guys', while simultaneously making that man feel as if he were the only one she had any interest in at all outside of the friend label.

She never would have thought it would work on Severus, at least, it wouldn't have worked on the Severus that she and Juniper had fallen in love with so many years ago. But loneliness and time can change a person, and he had spent many a long night alone, without the comfort of another body, without the touch of a woman on his skin, or under his fingers. So it was now only a question of a matter of time until he broke his celibacy with Willow, and whether or not she and Juniper would be able to handle the repercussions if he did.

The steady rumble of thunder in the distance sent several straggling walkers outside scurrying to the nearest doorway on the cobbled streets of Diagon Alley. Summer rainstorms had been swift and unpredictable this year, and more than one witch or wizard had found themselves drenched in a matter of seconds while walking from one shop to the next. Two giggling girls, fresh over the ocean from America, had been delighted to be a part of the class trip this year to England. They had just happened to get 'lost' from the rest of their group and had spent the day wreaking havoc in the local taverns and pubs while collecting all sorts of trinkets wrapped in brown paper to take back home with them. As they dashed into a cozy, warm tea shoppe, the darker of the two scanned the menu once, only to turn wide eyes to her companion.

"They only serve tea," she spoke very slowly and carefully. Her friend looked crestfallen.

"Damn! Why do you have to be allergic to my favorite beverage, I ask you! WHY?" with a roll of the eyes, her friend turned on her heel.

"I'll go to the coffee shop we saw a few paces back and meet up with you here in a few, alright?" with a shrug of the shoulders, the lighter brunette returned her gaze to the floating menu.

"Don't take too long, Maeve," she called, as the red clad witch disappeared. Another low roll of thunder sent a twitchy wizard farther into the recesses of the shoppe, his teacup chattering against its saucer as he found a new table. When she stepped up the counter to place her order, the young girl was taken aback to see a pale, but smooth skinned and rather handsome young wizard (in his own, unique way) smiling back at her. He had long, lank hair that was pulled back into a messy ponytail, and while he had a rather large nose, it only accented his dark, brooding eyes. He didn't look as if he smiled much, and his teeth a pale yellow-she assumed stained from a regular drinking of tea, but he was still quite handsome in her eyes-in a European way. And the British accent that spilled from his lips when he greeted her almost melted her knees.

"Good afternoon, how can I help you?" licking her lips nervously, she allowed her green eyes to dart back to the menu, suddenly on edge.

"One peppermint tea, please-large. The largest size you have," as she fumbled in her pockets for her wallet, he watched her, his smile still plastered to his odd features.

"Thank you," the words flowed smoothly as he took her change, their fingers brushing. She could have sworn she felt sparks when they touched. In a matter of seconds he was brewing her tea, while she examined his broad shoulders and lightly muscled arms, pretending to be rereading the menu of biscuits and sweets that floated above his head. Though she was sure her ruse was lost on no one. She didn't know how she managed to mumble a thank you and a smile when he handed her the hot mug, but she tried her best no to slop or spill it all over herself when she found a seat rather close to the counter, but within sight of the window with the best view outside.

Suddenly, a large boom made her jump; a bolt of lightning cracked the sky and within moments, rain was pouring in great sheets down the streets. She was so engrossed in the phenomenon, she hadn't heard the young man sneak up behind her, until he was standing in front of her. Raising her green eyes to meet his, ever so slowly, she swallowed the steaming tea with the lump in her throat.

"I don't mean to be rude, miss, but am I mistaken in assuming that you are an American?" she shook her head.

"Nope. I sure am. It's my friend, Maeve, and my first time visiting here. England, that is. Together. And it's been lovely," she babbled, lost in his gaze. His smile broadened, and she felt almost like a fly in a spider's web.

"Maeve? But what's _your_ name?" he offered his hand, which was calloused and large, and she shook it, surprised that the fingers were ice cold, as well as the silver ring he wore on his middle finger, but the palm warm.

"Juniper; Juniper Lunar," she managed to mumble.

"Do you mind if I join you, Juniper?" her heart skipped a beat.

"Sure! I mean, if you have the time, that is," she hastily added.

"I always can make time for a beautiful woman such as yourself," he replied, sliding into the seat across from her with the grace of a panther. Feeling a familiar warmth between the thighs that spread into her belly, Juniper blushed a rather dark shade of rose and sipped her tea very, very slowly.

Lyrics © Jeff Buckley-'Calling You' 


	8. Chapter Eight EDITED R Version

Chapter Eight

"It's stopped raining," the low voice murmured from the window, pale hands clenching the gauzy curtains, a silver band glinting from one of his knobby knuckles. Her eyes were half-lidded, drunk and glazed, naked body barely covered by the thin sheets that were tangled around her torso. He watched her from the corner of his eyes, barely caring for more than the shape of her hips, the delicate cup that was her breast, the slightly blueish-pink nipple that was still erect, from a chill in the air rather than excitement. Their lovemaking had stained the bed with shining fluid in more than one place, not that it mattered.

"Tom, come back here, lay with me ..." her whine sent a ripple of disdain through his thin frame. Eyes narrowed to slits, her turned to face her. She was too far gone to recognize the warning signs reflected in those cold features, as he descended upon her.

"You want me to lay with you?" the sensual sneer that crawled from his mouth jolted some distant memory in her. Blue eyes wide with sudden fear, she met his dangerous gaze.

"I-I didn't know what I was-what I mean is-"her words were stumbling over one another, too fast, too few, incoherent despite her attempts. Long fingers wrapped around her throat, squeezing slowly.

"I only fucked you for a child, but I can fuck others," he whispered, choking the air from her. Eyes bulging, her nails clawed at his iron grip, saliva bubbling at her lips.

"Puh-pulease, T-t-to-o-om-don-"with a sickening crunch, he watched the blood dribble down her cheeks, the now bloodshot eyes roll back into her head, bloodied blonde curls a pillow for the awkwardly lolling head. Glancing at his hands, he saw a faint fleck of blood had marred his fingernails. Disgusted, he ripped the sheets from the bed, throwing her limp body to the floor. With a swift kick that sent her naked limbs sprawling into the corner, he reached for the pack of cigarettes she had set on the nightstand. The air was foul with the pungent scent of sex and death. Lighting one, he never bothered to even glance at his handiwork, as he turned to face the window again, swilling a large amount of absinthe from the half empty bottle on the sill.

Exhaling a long spiral of smoke, he gazed at the strangers milling below him on the wet streets. A woman with brown hair; dark brown hair and even darker eyes, clutched the cloaked arm of what must have been her husband as they wove through the crowds. Her legs were long and alluring beneath the folds of her skirt, the seams of her stockings following the curves of her calves, leading his gaze to her tiny waist and delicate neck, and fashionably coiffed hair. Such a lovely neck, he allowed himself to think as he sipped from the bottle once more. When her face turned upwards, meeting his, he was caught off guard by the large nose that was amongst such a small and pretty pair of lips and sparkling black eyes. It reminded him of a beak, almost, though it only added something to her beauty.

Allowing a seductive smile to cross his handsome face, he sucked deeply on his cigarette, setting the bottle down to wave at her. Blushing a dark crimson, she smiled back and ducked her head in a demure, sweet way. The man leading her along seemed to sense her distraction and glanced behind only to follow her gaze. When he saw the young man's naked torso, he gripped her elbow firmly and slapped her across the face, hard. Staggering backwards from the force of the blow, she clutched at the tiny, netted hat atop her head with her small, gloved hands.

It was only a breath, but the young man felt his anger flare at the blatant display of violence out in public. A few passers-by had stopped and one or two women had gasped in shock, their own eyes blind to whomever was watching from above in the tall hotel. When the husband turned back to the window, it seemed as if all expression had been wiped from him, were anyone to look in his eyes. Concentrating, the young man focused his attention and led the couple to the hotel doorway, up the stairs and to the door of his room.

A steaming mug of tea was cupped in her tanned hands, wreathing about her face, as thickly lashed green eyes stared across the tables of students during breakfast. Her legs were sore, her ribs ached, and she was having trouble sitting still, but she managed to remain calm and focused, searching among the children before her.

_Children_, all of them, despite their experiences and lifetimes of hardships, they were all still _just children_. Something she had to remind herself often, particularly when her thoughts were on the most famed of all wizarding boys, Harry Potter. He sat now, with his two best friends flanking him, as they chatted over toast and porridge, his own emerald green eyes occasionally flickering to the staff table and meeting her forest green ones. He was curious, about herself and Maeve, about Severus and Dumbledore, about Willow and Ivy-she could see it reflecting each time he dared to look at any of them. It was only a matter of time until he approached any one of their cliques, and she wanted to make sure that Maeve or herself would have influence over the boy who lived before Willow or Ivy began leaking their poison into his brain.

But it wouldn't be easy; the Solaris sisters had a certain pull over the men and boys of the world that Juniper despised and envied with each passing year.

Owls swooped through high-ceilinged hall, dropping mail at the proper owners without care to drinks and food. Once particularly lovely tawny owl perched politely in front of Juniper, offering a small scroll. Without hesitation, she placed a small knut into its leather pouch and pocketed the scroll for after the meal. She already suspected whom it was from, but was a bit taken aback to see the probing eyes of Harry watching her. Sipping her tea slowly, she decided that today would be the day she would make her move.

The cold blue eyes of Willow watched the exchange intently, which was not lost on the observant Maeve, drinking deeply of her own bubbling brew. They would have to move fast if Willow was alerted now; she had already begun to influence Severus, and classes had only been underway for about four weeks.

Standing in an imperious manner, Juniper didn't even bother looking about her; she only kept her eyes locked on the Potter boy, before exiting the hall in a dignified manner. Finishing her drink, Maeve stood as well, black curls dancing about her face and shoulders like flames, as she sent a chilling glare towards Willow. With a contemptuous smirk, the auburn athlete watched the second of the pair follow her friend's lead, as she stroked the thigh of Severus beside her under the table, fingers grazing over the straining fabric between his legs. Though his penis was at her command, his eyes were fixed on the memory of the two disappearing into the castle from breakfast, wondering if it was his imagination that Harry Potter was suddenly agitated and shooting troubled looks over his shoulder where they had taken their leave.

Sighing beside him, Willow arched her back in the pretense of a stretch, drawing his probing mind back to the heat beside him. After all, it had been so long since a woman had lavished attention on him, and how he had missed it so. Perhaps, now that school was back into full swing, they could consummate the growing passion between themselves-he had fantasized about it often enough now, and found his hands stroking himself many dark nights after she had left him in a teased and tortured state of desire.

After all, what did they have to lose now that almost everyone-including students were already gossiping about what may or may not be between them? Staying her hand on his thigh with his own, he leaned it, never seeing the brief flitter of repulsion that disappeared from her features instantaneously as he whispered into her ear.

"Perhaps my classroom, before morning lessons start, we could speak?" with a sensuous smile, she nodded shortly, and stood, cursing the fact that this game of cat and mouse was taking so much precious time, but deciding that cementing her power today would be more profitable than disposing of him. She would deal with the Potter boy soon enough, once Severus' loyalties were hers and hers alone.

She knew he watched her leave the Great Hall, and as she made her way to the dungeons, she began to undo the clasps of her cloaks before she had even reached the doorway. She hoped Juniper or Maeve would find her with him, and allowed herself a moment of triumph at the reactions that could be a result of her and his betrayal.

A lone pair of eyes were hidden behind a suit of armor, watching the hook nosed Potions Master following the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor into his classroom. Sliding from their hiding place, but still impossible to detect by anyone, they stepped into the classroom, only to meet an unlikely couple, but not an unlikely sight, considering that Willow had been seducing Severus since she had first set foot in Hogwarts. Steadying their breath, the eyes watched and were pleased to remain unexcited by the display of vulgarity she offered. Another few people were unfortunate enough to chance upon the sight, however, and they were not unknown for long.

"Is this what you wanted to talk about, Severus?" Willow purred, allowing her cloaks to open and reveal her lengthy legs and white as snow skin.

It took only a matter of moments for them to fuck, and then it was over. Shaking his head, he watched her a moment as she gathered her fallen robes and redressed. He felt strange, not really satisfied, more or less just disappointed in himself for giving into such animalistic urges with someone whom he hardly knew or cared to know. After all, in the past four weeks-actually, since she had arrived at Hogwarts-Severus had found Willow to be about as deep as a shallow puddle. She had no real thoughts to offer on anything outside of herself, and when she tried to interpret what she had done in her minimal, limited acting career before teaching as art, he found himself biting back laughter.

So, why, he wondered, had he still desired to fuck a woman whose only significant addition to society was drama in the form of her anger and selfish urges? Was it because she carried herself with such confidence, such arrogance? Was it because she was the antithesis of what Maeve and Juniper were in his past (and still his present)? Why, even the sex today had been a slim comparison to what he had experienced with his two lovers so long ago. Even he, as withdrawn and neglected sexual appetite in the past few years, had to admit it was rather pathetic the lack of passion she had inspired in him during their very brief intercourse. He had never found a woman who so desperately craved short sex, but she had done everything in her power to ensure it was nothing more than few wasted minutes of his time.

At that moment, however, time seemed to stop as Severus realized they were not alone in his classroom.

Standing in the doorway, horrified and hurt, were the two women who had loved him so in the past, who had spent many nights curled around his own gaunt frame after hours upon hours of tender, sweet, passionate lovemaking. And now they were staring open mouthed at the spectacle before them. Willow had a downright evil smile curling across her face and Juniper's eyes glistened with tears when she met his own. It felt as if a bucket of ice water had been poured over his head, and no words came when he opened his own mouth. Turning on their heels, the two left as silently as they had come and he could only assume they had seen every detail of the affair.

It was only after Willow kissed him on the cheek and had bidden him farewell, that he began to wonder where the Potter boy had been during it all, and why he was arriving to class late as the other students opened their textbooks and began to scribble their notes.

Dipping her brush into the red depths of a clay pot, she slowly dragged it across the canvas, marveling at the simple beauty of the paint as it spread and coated the white emptiness of her drawing. It was thick and vibrant, perfectly contrasted with the rich hues of green that were in abundance around it. She had begun the painting when she had found that she was indeed pregnant and during the past seven months, as the life in her belly had grown, so had her painting. It was reaching depths and levels she had never expected, haunting her dreams and filling the empty place in her soul that had begun to eat away whenever she saw Maeve and Severus curled up together in some romantic fashion.

It wasn't jealousy at their love; the three of them shared a bond few could ever understand. No, it was the fact that she felt as if something were going to destroy their little world any day now. They had worked so hard to keep up a pretense of normality since going into hiding, but now that a future life was in their hands, one that was innocent and pure, she was suddenly afraid.

If the war between Voldemort and the rest of the wizarding world were to arrive on their doorstep today, what would they do? She contemplated this as the summer sun warmed her bare back and swollen belly while she painted, the dust mites dancing merrily around her. These days, when everyone was out working and she was left to herself, she found the enchantment she felt towards this growing child a secret she could indulge in. Even now, she could feel it shifting. Its tiny feet and hands pressing against her, as if to warn her that it would only be a matter of time and then, she would be holding this delicate bundle in her arms. Hear its tiny voice for the first time and smell its sweet scent, to be able to understand what they had truly created.

The sound of footsteps in the back yard reached her ears, and turning ever so slowly, Juniper wondered who on earth would be here at this hour. It was still early afternoon-no one was due home for another three hours or longer.

Resting her brush in a jar of water, she pulled her apron back around her neck, covering her full, bare breasts and protecting the bundle of her stomach as she carefully edged to the window. A gentle breeze rustled the curtains, and the footsteps stopped. Juniper hesitated a moment, her arms cradling herself, as she very, very slowly peered out the window.

A familiar, dark haired and incredibly handsome man with cold, unfeeling eyes was gazing up at their window, waiting for her to glance out at this precise moment it seemed.

Jerking back, she felt her heart begin to hammer. He had found them, and he was waiting outside. Terrified, she glanced at the door. It was locked, but only once. They had become careless in the past few months, and he had found them. Padding across the apartment, praying no one was home below them and able to hear her, she locked the deadbolt, the chains, shoving a chair in front of the door. Even if that held him back, he would find a way in, she was certain.

The fear that filled her sent a serious of prickles down her scalp and spine. She was almost too scared to turn around, for she sensed the change in the air, could see the shadow that fell across the wall. Pressing her lids closed, briefly, she steadied her breath and turned.

He was standing before her, in the room, silhouetted by the sunlight streaming through. The wicked smile that curled his lips froze her. He hadn't aged a day since they had last seen him, though she knew why. Finding her voice somewhere, she managed a choked demand.

"What are you doing here?" He hardly laughed, though she could tell she had amused him.

"Did you honestly think you could escape me, Juniper Lunar?" she didn't move, though his eyes slid to the painting between them, and his smirk deepened, "How lovely-what a touching little family unit you three have created. Unfortunate that it can never come to term," his gaze rested now on her belly, and she felt her heart drop.

"No," she whispered. His head cocked to the side, curiousity now reflected there.

"No?" his laugh was brusque, "Where are the other two?" She wanted to lie, but knew he would see through it in a heartbeat.

"At work," a second laugh.

"As if they were common mudbloods or muggles," he stepped forward, and she involuntarily stepped back, "Don't play this game or you both will die," he warned, "Just come with me and you can conceive another. This is just one." She felt the tears pricking, threatening to fall, as she shook her head.

"Please don't do this," she begged. He snorted derisively.

"I've waited too long for this, whore, now give me the child," she shook her head once more.

"Let me have this one, and I'll conceive one for you, if I must. I'll lay with you a hundred times over, if only to save this one for _us_," the slap was like the crack of a whip, the force knocking her to the floor, where she trembled.

"You know it can not be from a union between you and I, all of you know this. It had to be of my blood, but not of my loins-don't play the fool, girl, it doesn't suite you. I wouldn't lay with you even if it would spawn a hundred children, you've been tainted by my son's seed," he gripped her elbow tightly, "Just come with me, the next two months will be painless, save for the end and then you are free to go." The tears fell but she did not weep aloud, as he pulled her to her feet.

"Please, control me-I don't want to remember doing this, I don't want to think I could be weak enough to give you my first born," her voice was hoarse. He felt no pity, but seeing that success was within his grasp, he roughly faced her to him.

"Look into my eyes, then," and as she did, her face went slack, her eyes glazed over and he led her from the safety of the threesome's home without a fight, save for the scuff of paint by the window when he stepped on her chamis rag, smearing the blood red color across the sill.

Curled into a ball by the fire, Maeve watched the flames twirling before her, sending ghastly shadows across the walls, as the parchment curled and singed in the heat. Juniper was asleep on the bed, coverlets and comforters wrapped around her like a cocoon. They were meet again this weekend, before the full moon, and yet, she felt no comfort in this as she had before.

The images of the morning were still burning in her mind.

How Severus could have given into that asexual tramp was a mystery to her, as so many other secrets of the school so far. Such as Harry Potter seeking them out earlier today, afraid, confused and seeing them as a beacon of hope. She wondered if he saw even a hint of what they could be when he stared at their souls. She knew the boy was gifted, but the people he surrounded himself with seemed to be more apt at solving the truths of the world than he could be at times. She winced as the image of Snape gripping Willow's buttocks while he rammed his cock into what must have been a loose and dirty cunt came to her mind once more. She hadn't been able to stomach supper after that mess, and Juniper had wept with her as night came upon the school grounds.

It wasn't as if they still loved him with the same intensity of so many years ago, but it was true that there was a bond, a connection, an understanding she thought that they all three still shared. And seeing him as he was today, fucking like a horny teenager, was a stark reminder that nothing would ever be as it had been before that fateful night at the ballet. Stoking the flames with a poker, she fingered her slender wand in her pocket.

Contemplation could be her worst enemy sometimes.

The scars on her arms were a reminder of that, whenever she needed help to stop herself from regressing into her own self-loathing. After all, it was he who had made the mistake this time, not she or Juniper. Sometimes, she wondered how things might have been if she had dragged Juniper to that coffee shop with her back when they were still young, in school and just visiting England for a lark. If only she had made sure her mad friend hadn't been left to her own devices, she might have never started up a conversation with the skinny, strange boy who would grow into the most gifted and deadly potions master any of the wizarding world had known. If only she hadn't allowed herself and her lover to fall for such an odd creature, they might have never met the Dark Lord, might have never had the troubled, checkered past that now haunted their very footsteps.

Standing, she found herself peeling back layer after layer of clothing, and crawling into bed beside the warm body of a woman whose own wounds were the only ones that equaled Maeve's. She wrapped her arms around the brunette, kissing her forehead before snuggling against her.

"I'm sorry, love. I'm sorry we ever returned to the isle of England, I'm sorry we ever returned to our past, I'm sorry I ever thought we could move on and escape the pain of memories," she whispered, before drifting off into a troubled sleep of nightmares filled with infants, a handsome, cruel man and a love between three people that would never be understood for what it really was.

As the fires dimmed, a long figure cloaked in the darkness and secrecy of their own powers, slipped from the room, mind all awhir with the knowledge it had just acquired, traipsing down the halls to find what other tales the rooms of Hogwarts held.


	9. Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

The dark circles under his eyes hadn't lessened over time, nor had the sting from his acidic words and often-callous choice of phrasing. But she still felt a flutter in her stomach when he chanced to meet her eyes, and she hated herself each day for it. More and more she found herself attracted to a man that she knew she shouldn't be, and she couldn't stop herself either. If there was ever a potion to brew that wouldn't have severe repercussions in the aftermath, but would still stop her heart from calling out to his, she would gladly down it in a heartbeat-preferably during the heartbeats that skipped whenever he said her name. She had seen the mark on his forearm, despite his best attempts to act as if was nothing, and she knew what it meant. She may have been an American, but she wasn't a moron. Everyone feared the Dark Lord; she was no exception.

The mark was getting darker with each passing day.

She couldn't quite place when the change had come over him, when he had aligned himself with the other side, when he had stopped sleeping, when his smiles had become even more forced, but she was attune enough to his emotions to realize that she couldn't keep coming into the tea shoppe on his breaks anymore. Not to mention the fact that she had to start distancing herself from him because her class would be returning to the States in only a few days. The summer session wasn't meant to be longer than two months, and while in that time she had come to respect and understand this boy, she knew that anything beyond friendship was going to be next to impossible, considering the fact that they would separated by a large ocean and several thousand miles.

The debate for her final visit had left her in a tangle of emotions; when should she meet with him? How could she tell him how she felt without ruining any future chance for a deep friendship? What would she tell him, more importantly, if he rejected her hopes and dreams for nothing more than just 'good-bye'?

As she paced the small apartment space she and Mauve had paid through the nose to rent out for the two month stay in London, she found herself stacking all the random scrolls and books they had scattered about in the short time they had been here; pocketing pens and charcoal sticks, spoons and forks, while collecting the dirty dishes from breakfast. Their flat had become a rather homey gathering place for their fellow students and a few other locals they had made the acquaintance of; each night left them with several bodies draped over the couch or chairs, and a few more curled on the floor, while they climbed into their shared loft and slept deeply, only to feed a hungry army in the morning. She had to admit that she was becoming a rather accomplished cook-why, they had dined on the finest blackberry pancakes and poached eggs. Though her hollandaise sauce still left something to be desired, she was sure she'd get the knack of it eventually.

Scrubbing the pots and pans feverishly, she tried to test out her words aloud, grateful the apartment was empty for once, "Severus, Sevvy, Sev-darling, we gotta talk," shaking her head, she tried to concentrate, "Don't sound like a dolt, June, just stay calm," she muttered, as she attacked a particularly tough bit of egg that had crusted to her best pan, "Stupid egg!"

"Did I miss breakfast already?" the lilting accent paled her complexion, as she peeked over her shoulder. He was here, at the apartment, standing in their doorway, sunshine framing him from the side as light sent patches of gold from the windows to the scuffed hardwood floors. Nodding her head, she set the pan back into the sudsy water and wiped her hands on a moist towel.

"Eggs benedict with blackberry pancakes," she found a clean cup and poured a now cold cup of black tea, "Tea?"

"Thank you," as his long legs brought him closer to her, she felt her heart hammering fiercely.

"It's cold," she warned, but with a flick of the wrist, his wand touched the mug and in seconds, steam was encircling his beak nose, "Why didn't you come over last night? We were having an early farewell bash." He sent an appraising look about the room, eyes resting on the overturned bong by the couch, and the random assortment of clothing that was thrown haphazardly about, still unable to conceal the multitude of shot glasses and empty bottles.

"I can see. Looks like it was a lot of fun, too, but I had work to attend to," he sipped slowly, "Mm, nice. Tastes like a blend of peppermint and black tea-Oolong?" she allowed a bit of a grin to spread.

"Yeah, I thought it would be a nice change; you like it?"

"It's perfect," she felt herself glow at his praise.

"Thank you. Um, why don't you have a seat while I straighten things up," he glanced about again.

"Let me help you-"

"No, no, no, you just got here. Relax, I can handle it. It's only a few clothes and glasses. Sit-SIT!" she commanded, and he hurriedly found a chair with only a few questionably bits of party left on it.

"So, what did you want to talk to me about?" he sounded nonchalant, but a deep scarlet blush still flamed her cheeks.

"Oh, you heard that, huh?" he chuckled.

"Just a bit, I'm sure you were in full conversation before I got here, weren't you?"

"I was not!" she defended hotly, searching for the cap to the bottle of Jack that had been drained last night, "I was cleaning, thank you." His brows shot to his hairline.

"It was worse than this before I got here?!" his tone incredulous as she nodded solemnly.

"I had just enough time to stash the bodies," a pause hung between them, a dark look flitting across his features, before raucous laughter broke the moment.

"Funny, hunny, funny," she felt her spine relax and her belly loosen at his laughter. Something had run through his brain, though what, she didn't know. Surely he would know her well enough by now to know a joke when he heard it, she reasoned, he was probably just tired from work. But a thought niggled in the back of her mind.

"Doesn't the shoppe close at midnight on Fridays?" she questioned, and he shifted uncomfortably.

"Yeah, but, uh, we had to do inventory, and, well, you know how that is," she nodded, though a part of her said he was lying.

"Well, just so you know, it never matters what time you come over-you're always welcome in our home."

"That reminds me-when **do** you two head back to the States?" her stomach clenched. It was now or never, she supposed; after all, the opportunity had just presented itself.

"On Wednesday," her voice was soft, as she began to wipe down the coffee table with a rag.

"Oh." He sipped the dregs of his tea, setting the mug into the sink before beginning helping her fold the shirts and pants left behind.

"Yeah, but we may come back, who knows? I mean, a year in London, that would be great. If we could get jobs and afford it, that is, though I doubt my parents will be thrilled with the idea," she tried to stop her hands from shaking as she piled the bundle by the door under a side table.

"I know I'd love to keep you two around for another year; things will be a lot more quiet without you guys wreaking havoc on all of England," she laughed, meeting his dark brown eyes with her own. His face was serious, and she felt time stop around them.

"You'd like for us to stay, huh?" there was only the thump-thump-thump of her heart; he must be able to hear it. Stepping closer, he nodded.

"Yeah, I'd like that, very much," she could smell him, the scents of tea with chemicals, plants, exotic herbs.

"Severus, there's something I gotta tell you, but, uh, well, um-"her voice faltered as he stepped even closer.

"Is there?" their noses were practically touching now. She licked her lips nervously, steadying her thoughts.

"Uh-huh," but his palm was cupping her cheek, so warm and so cold all at once. She felt the sigh come from her chest, and inhaled deeply, "I just wanna say that, um, you really mean a lot to me-"

"You mean a lot to me, too," his voice was a whisper, his eyes half-lidded, so dark, so brown, so deep; she felt as if she were falling into a chasm.

"Really?"

"Really," And when their lips met, she didn't care that she was still in her pajamas, or that her hair was a mess, or that the apartment needed to be swept. All that mattered was how wonderful his lips felt against her own, how delicious he tasted, how amazing it felt to have his arms wrapped around her middle, his hand pulling her into him, firm against her back. When they broke apart, his breath was ragged.

"Don't go, Juniper," was all he said before she found herself pressed against his mouth again, her hands clasping his neck. And she realized then that no matter what she was _supposed _to do, she couldn't leave him.

In the circular room where so many times before he had found solitude, a lone man now sat, racked with guilt and haunted by the pain of memories long past. Resting over the roaring fire was the same faded, dusty painting that had always been there, but for some reason, on this night, he felt as if it were the first time he had seen it completed, and the rawness of that wound was so fresh, so new. Rubbing his arm absentmindedly, he realized that, for the once, he wasn't rubbing the arm that bore the mark of the Dark Lord, but the arm that bore a scar he had hidden from all sight since the night it had been created.

Gingerly lifting the sleeve, he began to roll it, past his white wrist, past his sallow forearm, until he could see it in its entirety. The skin was raised and purpled with the cold of the season; not even the fire seemed to warm it into submission. Its length ran from elbow joint to mid-arm and its width that of his arm. He traced the letters and symbols with one finger, recalling the events that had befallen himself and the two greatest loves he had ever shared. Disgust sent bile into the back of his throat as the visions of what had happened on his desk with Willow ran through behind the others.

What had he been thinking?

With a groan, he rose from his chair and drew from the haversack he had brought along a fresh bottle of his own brew of absinthe. He still was pissed beyond belief that someone had filched his sacred glass and bottle, but this would do for now.

He didn't even bother with the sugar cubes, preferring to down the bitter brew as it was; swilling from the bottle in a way he had seen one other man do, so many, many, many years ago. It burned his throat, and he relished in the pain.

: _This_, this pain, _this was real_. :

Stalking about the room with the bottle clutched in his fist, he felt the presence of someone else nearby, but didn't care. With another deep gulp, he set the bottle on a bookshelf, drawing down a sketchbook and a journal. Flinging them to the floor without bothering to open their yellowed pages, he grabbed another handful and tossed them as well. Clearing the entire shelf, he brushed the dust reverently from the space, before prying the back of the wooden shelf open. Revealing the cold womb of a secret hole in the brick wall, he reached inside and drew out a tin box, whose lock had rusted over time. He held it carefully, overturning it in his large palms. It held the truth about him, about them, about their life, about their past, about _his_ past, all in this tiny tin.

Hurling it across the room, he didn't even watch as it smashed against the stone wall with a loud clang, the lock popping off at a strange angle. Landing with a dull thud on the floor, its lid flipped open, spilling the contents onto the carpet.

"Take it-after all, that's what you really came for, isn't it?" he spoke to the empty space in the room, to the invisible person who watched him quietly, "it holds all the answers you seek, so take it, and get out of my chambers before I remove you personally." The growl his tone had reached was a dangerous one. Unseen hands scooped the contents back into the safety of their prison and then disappeared from the tower, without a word.

"Here, have a cup of cocoa," Maeve's slender hand was clutching a warm mug that smelled awfully enticing. With a grateful smile, a young boy took a sip, eyes puffy and bloodshot.

"Thanks, Professor Ulster."

"Please, Harry, we're not in class; call me Maeve," perching on the arm of a nearby chair, she smoothed back her hair, twirling a strand around her fing, "Now, what did you want to talk to me about?" Harry was silent, the moments stretching awkwardly as he stared into the light brown beverage's depths.

"It's alright, Harry. Whatever we talk about here, stays between you and me," she placed her hand comfortingly on his arm, and the stiff smile he offered up at her melted the young woman's heart. He was so young, and seemed to so innocent, until she looked into his eyes, and then ... the weight of a thousand years were reflected back. She felt that they were kindred spirits in those moments, her own wounded soul reaching out to his.

"You sound like a muggle therapist," he commented dryly, causing a ripple of laughter to be shared.

"Yeah, well, I have a lot of experience with those, trust me," taking up her cup, she drank deeply, "Yum, chocolate."

"I, well, I'm having some problems, Professor Ulster. And I want to talk to Dumbledore-but, he seems to be avoiding me this year, and I don't really trust Professor Solaris, plus I can't get in touch with Si-um, someone very important to me, and all Hermione and Ron suggest is Dumbledore, so, well, you seemed like the next logical person to come to," the words rushed out of his mouth so fast, that Maeve would have had a hard time understanding him if she weren't used to the multitude of British accents that abounded in Hogwarts.

"Wow, what a mouthful-you've been holding that in for awhile now, haven't you?" Harry nodded, staring at his mug again, "Well, let's start from the beginning. How was your summer, Harry? Did you start having these problems then, or after you arrived back here at Hogwarts?" With a deep sigh, he shook his head.

"It started this summer, with my cousin, Dudley Dursley ..." and so Harry told the quiet, observant professor of his daring escape from the dementors this summer, followed by the terrifying trial before the Ministry of Magic in one of the chambers reserved normally for the likes of crimes committed by Death Eaters. He gave her incredibly detailed accounts of the dreams he had been having, the frightening visions that had plagued him, his wretched experience at St. Mungo's with Gilderoy Lockheart and the revelation Neville Longbottom had made about his parents to Hermione and Ron, not to mention the sudden appearance of the Thestrals pulling the school carriages. When his throat was dry and the candles had sunk low into their wax, Maeve placed a warm blanket over the exhausted young boy, as the flames in the fireplace dimmed to glowing embers and logs.

"Damn, Harry-you just can't seem to win, can you?" he gave her a wan smile.

"Well, there _is_ a silver lining this year, but even that—"he yawned widely, "Even that isn't something I can tell anyone ..." Meave refilled his mug with a wave of her wand, the cocoa now topped off with marshmallows.

"Miniature Marshmallows?" she asked.

"Not _my_ silver lining, but those are definitely a nice surprise," he sipped it, his eyelids drooping closed, feet propped on a footstool, "No, my silver lining is ... Luna Lovegood." Meave held back her shock, instead offering him a full pillow.

"I know this is unorthodox, Harry, but would you care to spend the night on my-er, our couch? I wouldn't want you to get a crick in your neck with that chair, and its past student curfew, so ..." but Harry Potter was already fast asleep, leaving Maeve to reflect on what she had learned tonight, her head swimming with every word. With a flick of the wrist, she levitated the teenager onto her couch, fluffing the pillow before placing it under his thick, black hair.

His young face was attractive in the dim light, jaw strong and square, normally drawn together thick brows resting over those intense green eyes, cheekbones sculpted and lips not too full nor too thin. Though his shoulders were broad and his frame tall, he was still scrawny from too many years of malnourishment at the hands of his aunt and uncle. In time, though, he would fill out to be a handsome young man--very similar to his father and someone else whom she cared for more deeply than even Juniper knew. Smoothing the ruffled hair gently, she felt the arrival of her friend and lover before she even spoke a word.

"So, he confessed his whole summer and autumn experiences to you tonight, huh?" Maeve nodded, gathering his and her mugs quietly, "I'm beat; we should rest tonight. But I've got a lot to talk about with you tomorrow, and we have a date to keep this weekend, alright?" Watching Juniper undress from the mirror of their shared vanity, the darker of the two touched something hidden in her pocket, a faraway look passing through her hazel eyes.

"Yes, we have a lot to discuss," hanging her cloak over the same chair Harry had occupied all night, she turned to take one last look at the boy who lived, before curling under the heavy comforter and warmed sheets of their oversized bed, drifting off into a restless sleep when dawn was just breaking on the horizon.

"Ron, _Ron_-are you awake? RON!"

"Mmph-no, I don't want to eat the cricket ball, it tasted funny last time ..." the redhead mumbled into his pillow, rolling over. With an exuberant shake of the shoulder, the voice attacked him once more.

"Wake up, you oaf and listen to me; this is important!"

"Nosisnot; my teeth are sore ..."

"RON! GET UP!" with a swift kick, he fell to the floor with a resounding thud.

"What in the—Hermione! What are you doing in here? You're not supposed to be in here ... again ..." he protested, rubbing his head where it had thumped against his nightstand. The bushy haired girl who had plagued him and Harry their first year of Hogwarts and had become their best friend by the beginning of the second year was still in her pajamas, and clutching something small and rusty looking in her hands, "What is _that_?"

"Get dressed; I have a LOT to tell you, and where is Harry?" the two looked about the room, Ron even more puzzled than Hermione.

"I don't know, I mean, he never came back from dinner last night, but I assumed he was in the Common Room doing homework, wasn't he?" Hermione shook her head vehemently.

"Nope, didn't see him there at all, and I didn't leave until really late," she had something draped over her arm, and it took Ron a few moments to register that he had seen the thing before.

"Hey! What are you doing with Harry's invisibility cloak?" Hermione rolled her eyes, before waltzing out.

"Get dressed and I'll tell you everything-now hurry up!" with a grimace, Ron rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

"Bloody shrew, that's what she is, waking me up at the crack of dawn with her confounded detective work-this had better be good, or I'll-I'll-I'll send Snape her way, that's what I'll do, and see how she likes being harassed after a long day of hard work ..." and still grumbling menacingly, the befuddled redhead pulled on his sweater inside out and spent twenty minutes trying to find the fly on his jeans that were pulled up backwards before he was even able to attempt meeting her for breakfast.

"What's this all about, Hermione?" a very grumpy Ron slunk into his seat beside her at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall. Light brown eyes darting around the hall nervously, Hermione slipped him a sheet of parchment where her neat handwriting was hardly visible.

_We may be being watched; we need to find someplace secret and safe to meet in order to discuss the 'trinkets' I've acquired over the past few months._

Eyes quizzical, Ron handed crumpled the paper into a ball, "Alright, follow me after breakfast. I think I know someplace." Nodding to herself in a pleased way, with a grim look of determination, Hermione sipped daintily at her pumpkin juice.

"Excellent-wait, where is Harry?" Craning his neck around the room, Ron's brow furrowed.

"Did he say if he was going to meet up with Cho or something yesterday?" Snorting derisively, Hermione pointed to the Ravenclaw table.

"Not likely since Cho is at breakfast and looks rather cheerful, for her lately, anyway," sure enough, Cho Chang sat amongst a protective circle of female friends, her normally tear streaked cheeks dry, and what may have been a faint smile lighting her pretty Asian features.

"Then where could he have gotten to?" Hermione's eyes narrowed suddenly, her watchful expression on the Slytherin table across the hall.

"I don't know, but what is Draco up to, Ron?" Draco Malfoy's shiny blonde hair and pointed nose were attuned to one of the Americans who had been sorted into Gryffindor, a Sarah Addams, who was giggling as he smiled and spoke with her.

"It looks like he's flirting!" Ron sounded aghast and Hermione felt slightly ill.

"Oh lord, that poor girl—someone's got to warn her before its too late!" but as the two stood and ambled from the dining students together, Ron groaned.

"It's already too late," chugging the last of her juice beside Ron, Hermione stood in a decisive way.

"Then we have to hurry, before anything else weird happens-though it can't be much worse than that. Come on, Ron," bewildered, Ron glanced at his plate.

"But I've still got sausages and toast-"

"_Come on_**, Ron**," with a heavy sigh, he grabbed both in his hands, stuffing another in his mouth as he followed her from the Great Hall.

"Couldn't this have waited until after we finished eating?"

"I've suddenly lost my appetite," she replied curtly, pausing a moment at the staircase, "Take me, Ron."

"Huh?" jaw open in confusion, he stared at her.

"To where you think its safe to talk, idiot," she reminded him.

"Ohhhh, right, _that_. Er, follow me," with one final check as they turned a corner, Hermione felt in her pack to make sure the treasures were safe, before following him to somewhere she could only pray was secret to everyone save themselves.

"This had better be good," he warned.

"Oh, trust me, Ron, it's something, though I don't know if good is how I'd describe it ..." Ron felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle, and suddenly wondered if maybe he didn't want to know what Hermione had discovered **this** year.


	10. Chapter Ten EDITED R Version

Chapter Ten

An owl tapped eagerly on the frosted windows of a ramshackle cabin in the Forbidden Forest, the nearly full moon reflected in the myriad of crystals that covered the warped glass. A trembling hand slowly unlatched the window, the hiss and crackle of logs in the fireplace unsettling against the stillness of the night.

"Who could know that we're here?" a nervous voice asked from the shadows within.

"No one who would be foolish enough to send an owl, I'm sure," the other replied, unraveling the scroll that was attached quickly, "It's from the children-they need answers. Answers to a number of questions, it seems."

"They'll have to wait," the growl was irritated, "Don't they know how dangerous it is to send an owl right now?"

"Probably not."

"Where are they? It's getting late, and they're usually here by now."

"I don't know, but be patient, they'll be here," tossing the scroll on the fire, the hands were now steady as they shut the window against the drafts of winter, "it seems we have a second frost this season. It's probably dangerous treading through the forest at night."

"We should have created an illegal portkey, since the Floo Network is now being monitored," The other remained silent at this, watching the wall of trees intently.

The sparks of the fire jumped about merrily, warming the bare feet that rested before it on a brightly colored throw rug that covered the cold flagstones surrounding the fireplace itself. Without turning from the window, excitement audible in their words, the watcher spotted their guests.

"They're here-I told you we had nothing to worry about!" Stretching, the other rose from the chair before the flames.

"I'll answer the door this time; it's been far too long since their last visit."

"Buckbeak's Brigade, open up, its bloody cold out here!" the lilt of Maeve Ulster's voice could be heard from the other side of the door, sending smiles across the faces of the persons inside.

"We'll warm you up, ladies-just get your arses in here!"

His lanky legs crossed in an uncomfortable manner, Ron waited as Hermione secured the door to the abandoned classroom they were in shut, before turning her glowing face upon him. It was moments like these that Ron felt that familiar cold wash throughout his body. Sometimes, Hermione Granger could be the most frustrating woman on the planet, other times, he felt as if his emotions were all a tangle because of the ways she spoke or carried herself or looked at him, with the thrill of a riddle or mystery in her heart.

"Are you ready?" he nodded, chin in hand as she pulled something from her bag, setting it on the desk he was curled upon.

"Why are you showing me some broken tin box, Hermione?" Ron scrunched his nose up as she dumped the contents onto the desktop, while rummaging for something else in her schoolbag. A slightly matted together old brush rolled out, along with a chewed on pencil and a few broken or bent quills; a very, very old packet of cigarettes with only two cigarettes inside, some old bottle caps, a keyring with several strange looking keys attached, a set of theatre tickets from a show seen the year Harry was born for a ballet, a few coiled guitar strings, a strange looking cigarette unlike anything Ron had seen before that smelled stale and had slipped from the cigarette pack itself, along with two chipped shot glasses; one green, one ruby red; and there was an empty, velvet ring box, a small glass phial with something fluffy and porous tucked inside, and a monogrammed handerkerchief. The initials were unfamiliar, but at the same time seemed to be trying to tell him something.

"Um, Hermione, I have no idea what this all means," Ron said, lifting his gaze as she pulled out a bottle of bright green liquid and another shot glass-one that was blue and chipped and matched the green and red ones.

"Do you know where I got this?" she asked in a matter of fact way that was irritating. He shook his head, knowing that even if he did, she wanted to tell him.

"Snape had them, in a secret room he likes to hole up in," Ron's jaw dropped.

"What?"

"I followed him one day, after supper--and it was _so_ strange. Like a different person lived there," she seemed to be lost in the memory. Eyes popping out of his head in disbelief, Ron struggled to make sense of what he was hearing.

"You did **what**? Why!? Huh-ho-w-how on earth did you manage to steal these things without Snape killing you?" Hermione glared at him.

"I followed him because I wanted answers-I wanted to know what he was doing for the Order, though _that_ turned out to be fruitless. But I found out other things, Ron-and I saw a lot of things I now wish I hadn't," her voice trailed off.

"You shouldn't have done this, Hermione, what if--wait, what did you see?" Ron stared suspiciously at the bottle of green liquid.

"I saw Professor Solaris and Snape shag on his desk like a pair of lusty teenagers," she retorted, snatching the bottle from him before he started shaking it (she could see that he wanted to). Ron looked pale when she met his queasy gaze.

"Tell me you're kidding, please," when she said nothing, he gagged, "Oh, that is disgusting. I thought she had standards, that fool!"

"It was her idea in the first place, Ronald," Hermione opened the bottle, "He has an absinthe addiction, you know."

"Absinthe? Did he brew it himself?" Ron looked into the bottle eagerly now.

"He may have, I don't know, but I felt it was the right thing to do-taking it from him, you know. He was hurting himself, never sleeping and always falling over half drunk in that tower of his," but the pale, freckled face now looked disturbed.

"Why should you care, Hermione? I mean, if Snape wants to kill himself, let him-"

"Real humane, Ron!" she snapped, hugging the bottle protectively, "I _had_ to. Just because he is a horrible human being that doesn't mean he isn't a brilliant potions master! And besides, it seems there was something between him and Professors Lunar and Ulster at one time, too. You've seen the way they look at one another-I think this box holds some clues to that!" Ron scavenged through the contents.

"Oh yeah, loads; this paintbrush and these keys tell it all-Hermione, it looks to me like a memory box. One we would need Snape or Professor Lunar or Professor Ulster to explain to us-not that I really care about Snape's past. How on earth did you think you would get any farther after you swiped this?" Ron sniffed the strange cigarette suspiciously, "Hmm, weird, this smells really old, but like it's made of freshly mowed grass …"

"That's because it reefer, you idiot," she said, sifting through the assortment of knick-knacks.

"Oh," setting the fag down, he watched her peer at a quill suspiciously, feeling more uncomfortable with every passing second, "look, Hermione, we should return this to him. It's obviously important; I mean, it was locked and—how did you break the lock on this?"

"I didn't. Snape did."

"Why would Snape break the lock?"

"He was angry and threw it at the wall, before telling me to take it away," she was now examining the keys thoughtfully.

"He knew you were there?" Ron sounded incredulous, causing another of her famed eye rolls.

"He didn't know it was _me_, exactly, but he knew **someone** was there. He could sense my presence somehow, and he hurled it against the wall before telling me to take it," pause, "So I did."

"Still, it seems personal. We should return it."

"He wouldn't have allowed me to take it if it was_ that_ personal," she retorted.

"Hermione, seriously, I feel like this is wrong-"

"Do you want to know about the Order, Ron?" she snapped. Ron was silent a moment.

"Yes, but not like this," his voice was soft, and Hermione sighed deeply.

"I don't like the fact that I had to sneak around either, but no one was telling us anything and things have been getting worse lately. I mean, look at what happened to Professor Lunar before the Winter Holidays and then that ban on the Floo Networks-something's up, and if Snape's past is any help to our future, we need to use all our available resources." He didn't want to agree with her, but Harry disappearing and Snape shagging Professor Solaris was too much for him to take at this point. She was right, they needed answers.

No matter how bizarre all of this seemed.

"What do you think he held onto this for?" Ron said, inexplicably drawn to the velvet ring box. When Hermione didn't answer, he slowly opened it, but it was empty as he had noticed earlier when touching it-lightweight without a sound inside. Not even the name of the jeweler it had been purchased it from, though the gold lettering was still faintly intact here and there. Rubbing his fingers over them, it took a few seconds for him to register that there was something _behind_ the inside of the top lid. Glancing at Hermione, he saw her peering at the contents of the phial, holding it up to the light from the grimy window, her eyes squinted in concentration.

Pulling one of the broken quills closer, Ron used the tip to slowly work his way around the lid, prying bit by bit the inner layer off very carefully. When it popped free, two things were revealed. One was a miniature photo of three people, waving merrily and cooing at one another in a romantic way; a very pregnant Juniper Lunar to the left and a seductive, incredibly sultry young Maeve Ulster to the right, with the center bearing a healthier, younger Severus Snape; his long hair past his shoulders and the dark circles under his eyes almost invisible. Puzzled, Ron pulled out the photo, handing it to Hermione.

"Take a look at this," he offered. She took it delicately between finger and thumb, brows shooting to her hairline in surprise.

"Well, I'll be …"

Behind the photo was a small, folded piece of paper. Pulling this out as well, Ron began to open it when Hermione stopped him.

"Let's wait until later, when we have more light to look at that-and when classes are done for the day. Who knows what it could be," she cautioned. Setting the paper back into the ring box with a dissatisfied sigh, he began to tuck everything into the tin.

"Alright, we look through it, we try to figure it out. But I think we should contact Sirius and see if he can help us understand something about these things, alright?" With a smile, Hermione pulled out a scroll and unfurled it.

"Already one step ahead of you, Ron. Just sign your name and we'll send it by owl tonight," pulling the scroll to him, Ron felt that twinge of unease once again that what they were doing was somehow going to open up a can of worms no one anticipated.

The worn and weathered hands of a man slowly traced their way down the waist of a raven-haired beauty, luxuriating in her round hips and trailing across her full breasts each time they wove back up, then down again. Nuzzling her neck, he inhaled the musky scent of fire and vanilla, nibbling at the lobe of her heavily decorated ear.

"I missed you," he murmured in a low voice that sent shivers down her spine.

"I missed you," she replied, one hand tangled in his long hair, the other holding her up from the floor, where they rested on a makeshift bed of cotton pallets and thick blankets. Gripping her buttocks in his hands, he gave them a playful squeeze.

"How much?" giggling, she rolled over, her eyes sparkling as she kissed his emaciated chest.

"Have you been eating?" with a groan, he fell back against the pillows in dismay.

"That's not what I was looking for as an answer," tickling him with her tongue, she murmured an apology.

"I'm sorry, is this better?" he shifted slightly, one hand darting to her thighs.

"Mmm, much better," he smiled when she moaned against his chest, her nails digging into his ribs slightly. Rolling on top of him, Meave leaned forward to touch his nose with hers.

"Why, my dear Sirius-are you trying to seduce me?" with a laugh like a bark, he kissed her lips, then her chin.

"I though I already had," he replied, trailing is tongue down her throat, her chest, to nestle his face between her large breasts. Giggling, she stroked his hair affectionately, "May I try one more time to win your affections, Queen Mab?" Feeling as she had been punched in the stomach at the mention of her old pet name from so long ago, Maeve tried to steady her voice and keep the pace light.

"You can try-we'll see if you succeed," unable to stave the warmth of passion stirring her senses as Sirius' hot mouth encircled the tip of her breast, she closed her mind to the past. She could feel the shifting of him against her pelvis, pulsing as it became hard.

"Naughty minx," he muttered, pressing himself against her. A gutteral growl to their left sent goosebumps along Maeve's skin; she stole a glance over her shoulder. Juniper's chestnut locks were fanning the lower half of a handsome young man, whose sandy colored hair was speckled with grey combined with lines around his soft, haunted eyes. Her head was bobbing up and down very slowly as her lover gripped the sides of the wooden chair he was sitting on.

"I think we can put them to shame quite easily, don't you?" Maeve cooed seductively.

"I know we can," Sirius replied, the passions of raw, animal sex beginning to run their course,"I need to feel you," he whispered, sliding out from under her. Maeve obliged willingly, as he lifted one of her legs to his shoulder, cradling her to the floor.

"Oooh, Sirius," she murmured, feeling the weight of her breasts bouncing as he began to thrust. With a deep grunt, he began to climax, bringing Maeve with him.

"Oh, Maeve, you're so fucking amazing!" he cried, still thrusting with the after effects of the explosive orgasm as she rode him, "I love you, you beautiful goddess, I love you," he breathed against her neck, as she slowed to her own finish.

"I love you, Sirius, I love you, too," she managed to sputter, feeling the slick mess of their lovemaking on her thighs and the blankets beneath them. Pulling out with an agonizingly slow grace, he kissed her down to her now shaking legs. With a nip and lick, he sent her into giggles.

"Mmm, tasty," he muttered, a wicked grin on his face, before quirking a brow behind her, "they're still going at it, love," he watched them with surprise as Maeve rolled to her side, propping her head on her hand. Indeed, Juniper was gasping and groaning as wave after wave of orgasm overtook her where her lover had placed her upon the same chair he had occupied only a moment before, ramming her with great zealous.

"Oh, Remus, yes, oh gods, YES!" Juniper screamed.

"We'll have to try that one once you get your strength completely back, darling," she suggested as he filled a goblet of wine and took a great swig, glancing from she to them.

"Why not have Remus simply try it on yourself before you two leave this weekend?" Remus grinned over his shoulder at them,as Remusbent Juniper over the table.

"Only if you eat June's pussy like you eat Maeve's while I do it," he retorted. With a smirk, Sirius offered the drink to Maeve.

"I would do that and much more to her," he warned, and Juniper laughed between moans.

"Oh, I know that, Mr. Black-and you've done much more, and much worse, before," as with a rather intense thrust, she was sent back into spirals of orgasms, "Oh yes, Remus, right there, harder-harder!" The table jumped with every grunt and groan as the two continued. Sirius' turned his attention back to Maeve, whose fingers were now between her thighs, rubbing once more.

"Are you not satisfied?" he inquired, to which her dark eyes met his own.

"Oh, no, its not that. I'm just ready to go again after watching them, darling, I wouldn't mind Remus showing me a thing or two tonight, you know," she let her legs drop open ever so slightly, and Sirius laughed.

"Remus-I think you have double duty to attend," he offered, and with another heave against the table, the two finisghed with spectacular orgasm,"Oh yes, Remus, YES! GODS, YES! Harder, harder, HARDER, ohhh, don't stop, don't stop, don't stop, oh gods, yes, yes," with a moan, she began to quiet, as Remus met his own, his voice practically inhuman.

"Oh, June, you're so tight, I love the way you feel, oh yes, oh gods, yes, oh, Juniper, I love you! Gods, I love you, oh June, oh yes, hmm, yes," and as the two sweating bodies pressed against the wall, they only turned to find Sirius buried deep within a very happy Maeve on the floor, her hands pinned above her head.

The trees shook their naked limbs angrily at the sky as the slender fingers of a woman brought a burning cigarette to her red lips, sucking on the life affirming stick with relish. Behind her, the every watchful eyes of the man her husband had allowed to abuse her body in ways she didn't even know were possible for the past two nights in effort to make a child within her womb bored into the wall and her scalp at the same time. A child whose fate caused a shudder throughout her whole being, but at the same time, she had enjoyed every moment of the intense passion and the cold moments of silence that followed.

It wasn't as if she were a stranger to the moodiness of men; her own violent husband, while being a poor lover, had the same pattern of behavior. A few pathetic thrusts from his small and laughable cock and she was left unsatisfied and alone in their bed as he drank himself into a booze ridden sleep, after which she would hide in the bathroom, blowing the smoke of her fags out the window so as to not wake him with the stench. But now, things were different. This distant, handsome man was a wild lover, whose own penis was a rival to her husband's in countless ways, and the intensity of his eyes could get her wet in seconds. Their lovemaking was long and she would climax hundreds of times before he ever seemed ready to spill the seeds of his labor within. The moments when she was able to be within her own mind afterwards were a cleansing sort of respite and he didn't seem to want to hear her thoughts or opinions anyways, which suited her just fine. He would drink and drink afterwards but never seem to be intoxicated. Even as they sat here, waiting for his next hard-on to appear, she could hear her husband in the next room with the hooker that had been hired to keep him company, and she felt a smirk lift her lips. The poor girl, she thought to herself, sipping her own cocktail slowly. The alcohol burned her throat, the mixer coating her tongue with its sugary sweetness.

She didn't care that the fur coat that was draped about her body didn't keep the cold bite of the night from hitting her stomach and breasts. She didn't care that she now had a strange tattoo burned into her forearm or that her husband would never probably lie with her again. Being a part of this harem that the young man was amassing, whose age it now seemed was _not_ reflected in his youthful looks, was only a part of the larger picture to her. In a way, she felt free. If the child she bore was taken from her, she didn't care. She had been allowed pleasure, for once since her bitter engagement, and she didn't care if she never felt the fullness of her new lover again after this night. The memories of the past two would sustain her for a lifetime.

Coming up behind her, the man slid his arm under her coat, around her waist and with a flick of the wrist, she let the fag fall to the ground. He was rock-hard pressing against heras she turned to face him, the fur dropping to the floor as he pulled her to the bed. She would bear him a child, she decided, no matter what the cost, and she wouldn't regret its death when it was born if it meant that these memories never end.


End file.
